


Dirty Job

by ExecutiveShrimp



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 1x2, 2x1 - Freeform, Angst, Betrayal, Crimes & Criminals, Heist, M/M, Organized Crime, Romance, Sexual Content, Socially Awkward Heero, Undercover, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 77,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6590221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExecutiveShrimp/pseuds/ExecutiveShrimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, 1x2/2x1: When Duo's best friend owes the wrong people a lot of money, the pickpocket and small-time conman gets pulled into a high-stakes plot to rob thirty-something billionaire Heero Yuy. To succeed and save his friend Duo has to get too close for comfort. (Rated M for violence and sexual content in later chapters).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter One**

She took a seat right by the door, her back towards it. She straightened the folds in her skintight dark navy dress before she slid into the red leather seat. She placed her designer purse on the floor next to her feet, squeezed into nude heels. She sat back up and started fixing the chocolate curls framing her face, then thought to lean back down and retrieve a small make-up mirror from her bag. She scrutinized herself extensively, the way a woman only would when meeting a hot date. Probably not for the first time, she fretted so much, she must already be invested in the relationship, however new it may be. When the door swung open and the bell rang to indicate such, she hurriedly dropped the mirror into the purse and struggled to assume a more casual demeanor. She left the zipper of her purse open. A Luis Vuitton wallet was exposed.

A mix of disappointment and relief visibly washed over her when the person who had entered was identified as not her date. The older gentleman who had just stepped inside joined a woman his age in the corner booth. He gave her a delicate kiss on her cheek that made her form a wrinkly smile.

The lady pursed her lips as she secretly observed the endearing scene. Absent-mindedly her right hand moved to pinch the thumb and index finger around the ring finger of her left hand. As soon as her brain registered the touch she disconnected her hands and nervously placed them in her lap. She was used to playing with a wedding ring. One that she wasn't currently wearing. The tan line was so pronounced it was apparent she normally would be wearing it. And that she spent much time at the tanning salon.

A recent divorcee, reluctant to distance herself from her failed marriage even as she attempted to get back on the horse? Or an adulteress, hit with unexpected guilt? Judging by her anxiety that surpassed the regular date-nervousness, the latter seemed to be case.

She was older than she looked. Appearance was important to her. She took good care of herself and took pride in her looks. She was wealthy, that much was apparent, not just because of the tailored wardrobe and expensive accessories, but the novelty in her expression as she observed the common man's diner and the fact that she was completely taken aback by the informality with which the elderly waitress addressed her. She could barely suppress an indignant, judgmental look that tugged at the corners of her mouth and threatened to furrow her delicately shaped eyebrows.

There was an expensive convertible sedan parked across the street. He hadn't seen her pull up, but the car was likely hers. It looked as out of place in its parking space in the downtrodden downtown street as she did in her bench in the musty diner.

Suddenly, she looked at him.

She could not have known he had been staring, no one ever noticed his prying eyes. Her gaze must have found him at random, after eying the older couple once more, seated in the booth behind him.

At first she looked away, caught off guard by the unexpected eye-contact.

He kept his gaze affixed to her. Waiting for her to turn to face him again. He knew she would. A woman like her enjoyed being looked at. Some would grow suspicious of a staring man, but she would be disarmed by his interest, mistakenly thinking she was in control.

She did and this time, flattered and made more confidant by the notion that he was still looking at her, she smiled; friendly but with a seductive glint. She was proud and vain and couldn't fathom any man staring at her with any other intention than admiring her beauty.

He returned the smile in similar fashion – amicable but controlled, and watched her take a deep breath before she purposefully looked out the window. But he knew she could still feel his eyes on her. She self-consciously crossed her legs and turned her body in a way to present him with her best angle. She liked him looking at her. It was a kind of attention she craved and probably exactly the kind of attention that drove her to pocket her wedding-ring and seek out the company of someone other than her husband. A husband who probably long ago stopped taking notice of her toned calves, perfect curls and the way the red lipstick temptingly accented the cupid's bow of her upper lip.

The door opened again. The bell rang again. She was struck with nerves again. But again the visitor would not be for her.

He gazed past a darkly clad silhouette as it approached him, keeping his eyes on the lady, then let his gaze drop to the wallet peeking out of her purse, that she had naively placed at the aisle. Regulars would know to keep their valuables a little closer to themselves, out of reach from others. This was not the kind of neighborhood where you carelessly place your designer bag at your feet. This was not the place for designer bags at all.

"Am I interrupting a hunt?" A nasal voice wondered once the black silhouette blocked his line of sight.

Duo looked up at his guest. He replied routinely: "I told you... Never hunt in a place that you frequent. You can practice, but you can't follow through."

"You know, I'm pretty sure you could get the same bland scrambled eggs and burnt bacon at any diner in this town." He nodded at the breakfast plate on the table, untouched. "What's so special about this place?"

"No one bothers me here." He looked up at him meaningfully.

"Well, seems to me then that you have to switch diners anyway. Might as well follow through on the chick."

"Sit down, J.J. Before you pass out."

With a groan J.J. plopped down in the seat across from Duo.

"You look like hell."

The younger man sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. His black, medium long hair was a mess, unwashed and unkempt, there were dark circles under his red eyes, his nostrils were red too. His lips were dry and the front of his shirt was wet. He reeked. "Didn't find my way back to a bed last night." He called out to a waitress as she walked by them. "Can I get a black coffee?"

"Sure thing. Want some breakfast?" She asked as she reached for her notebook to scribble down the order. His disheveled appearance was of no surprise to her.

"Just make it a big mug," He requested with a tired smile. He turned back to his friend and explained: "There was a deal going on at the club tonight and I decided to stick around, party a little. Girls were hot as hell tonight, you should have been there." He chuckled but it turned into a wheezing cough.

Duo took a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

"Big brother disproves," J.J. observed with a mocking tone.

"You know I do. Now more than ever."

J.J. gratefully accepted his coffee then wondered after the first sip: "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I have known you for twelve years and I can tell when you are pissed and when you are high and right now… you are both."

J.J. snorted. "I barely had a sip. And... okay, maybe a line or two, but it's a perk of the job, you know?"

Duo shook his head at the younger man's nonchalance. "And does _he_ know that 'a line or two' are perks of the job?"

"You worry too much." He slouched in his seat. He produced a packet of cigarettes but pocketed them just as quickly as the tall man across the table gave him a stern look. "Komarov does it all the time." The black haired youngster continued. "He suggested whipping out some of the product to make it a party." He bared yellowed teeth with a grin.

"Komarov is a fuck-up," Duo bit, "But he is his cousin. He is blood. That is about the only thing _he_ cares about. Money and blood. You can't afford to be a fuck-up. Because nothing is going to make him inclined to be lenient towards you when you mess with his business… Jesus, you're not even Russian. You aren't one of them. They don't give a shit about you." His arms flailed about making angry gestures to emphasize his point.

J.J. sighed, frustrated with his friend's judgmental attitude. Nowadays every conversation between the two of them seemed to end in a debate about this. It was why they both chose to see less and less of each other. "It's not as bad as you think it is. We got each other's backs. We take care of each other. That is better than being out there by yourself, pickpocketing stock brokers on the metro," He spat disdainfully.

"Have I not taken care of you? Have I been writing all those checks to you to improve my penmanship?" Duo shot back venomously in a low hiss.

J.J. chuckled bitterly. He scratched the back of his head with dirty fingernails. "Oh big brother, always a flare for the dramatic."

The taller man pointed a finger across the table. "Don't you dare make a fag joke right now."

"I wasn't going to," The other replied earnestly. "Not everyone is as judgmental and inflexible in their judgment as you are. You may think you are always right because you're always right about that," He pointed his thumb at the lady by the door who had been joined by an attractive, younger man, many flirtatious smiles between them, "But you're not. Three years ago when I decided to start working for Tsubarov, you were all high and mighty right off the bat. Lecturing me about what a big mistake I was making and that I was going to end up with my legs broken and my ears cut off, eating through a straw in a hospital bed. But three years have passed and nothing bad has happened. When was the last time you had to write a check for me, huh?"

Over two years ago, Duo quietly thought to himself. J.J. may consider this a victory, but nothing could ease Duo's concern and it was that same concern that made him lash out so harshly. He was just desperate to get through to him, desperate to get him out of that life. He would much rather go back to the days when he was paying J.J's bills, that was a much lighter burden than knowing that the local Russian mob was paying for his expenses. Tsubarov was a merciless, sadistic man who enjoyed the darker side of his drug business. No major charges ever stuck to him but all across town the drug lord was known for making people disappear, including his own people, if he ever even considered them as such. People were expendable tools to him and none as expendable as unreliable, single-purpose tools like young, naïve J.J.

The younger man released a deep sigh. "Let's not waste our friendship on this. Haven't we fought about it enough? Can't we agree to disagree?" He tried to warm Duo up to him with a crooked smile.

"This isn't about a difference of opinion on who should have won a football game, or which brand of cereal is better," Duo pushed. "I'm never going to be okay with you working for him and I'm never going to stop trying to convince you of how stupid an idea it is."

He shrugged. "It's too bad you feel that way. Someone with your skills could make so much money if you joined."

"Not this again." The older one grumbled. "I'm doing just fine, as you would have if you weren't so damn impatient."

J.J. shook his head. "I'm not good at it like you are."

"I could have taught you!"

"You tried," J.J. waved his thin hand dismissively. "And then you had to bail me out twice because I got caught. I'm a lousy pickpocket and I'm an even shittier conman. With Komarov I at least feel like I'm not a screw-up. And I make good money. And I have fun too."

"Fun? Partying all night and getting pissed and shit-faced is fun?"

"Well, yeah…"

Duo played with his paper napkin as he couldn't stand looking at his friend's face any longer, the way the red spider veins stood out in his eyes and the way his reddened nostrils flared, exposing traces of white powder. He thought of him as his little brother. For all intents and purposes they were family and he had always tried to honor that; aimed to protect him. But J.J. was perfectly content following his footsteps down the wrong path, blinded by greed and laziness. Duo admitted that he wasn't much of an example to his 'younger brother', the path he trotted wasn't exactly righteous. The best he could ever do was become a pickpocket and small-time conman. He never stood a chance at anything else, being uneducated, resistant to authority and born and raised into the wrong socioeconomic layer of society; as low as you can get. Rich and entitled people didn't share with people like him, didn't give people like him a chance. But for J.J. he had wanted better. If anything, not the life the young man now lived and considered himself lucky to have.

It was ruining J.J. as it was ruining them; their relationship. J.J. became increasingly distant and defiant. Soon he would be beyond help. Duo knew it would be then that he would need it most desperately, but what would he be able to do at that point? He didn't like the thought that maybe that moment had already come and gone and he was merely grasping at thin air.

"I'm going to go home," J.J. announced, rising to his feet and tossing crumpled up bills on the table to pay for his supersized coffee. "To my apartment. That I pay for."

A hole in the wall in a crack house, Duo thought to himself. With pained eyes he watched the lithe youth go. Some nights he lay awake and wished J.J. would get busted during one of his drug deals at a night club. He would be better off in prison, out from Tsubarov's reach. But he never did have the heart to give the police an anonymous tip. The two of them had been dealt shitty cards all their life, he wasn't about to cheat him, even if maybe it could save him from playing a dangerous hand. He couldn't do anything that would only serve to make J.J. distrust him, that would eventually only push him deeper into the folds of the Tsubarov family.

He had once made a promise to take care of J.J., but he had made that promise unaware of what a challenge it would be. How do you save someone who doesn't think he needs to be saved?

With his appetite gone he paid the bill and got up. From the corner of his eye he casually observed the lady and her male friend as he slipped into his jacket. It was an instinct that he could not suppress. It was probably best to switch diners anyway, he rationalized. It was not good for someone of his profession to become a too familiar sight in certain public places. Most waitresses already knew him by his first name. To be successful – meaning to not go to jail – meant to be invisible. It was time for him to disappear again.

J.J. had been right about one thing: he might as well follow through on 'the chick'.

He got a road map out of the inside pocket of his jacket and started walking towards the door. As he reached the booth where the lady and the young man were seated, he pretended to trip on his own feet and let himself fall to the floor. He engineered the fall so the map would end up folded over the lady's purse at her feet.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" She exclaimed.

With an expertly feigned sheepish chuckle he scrambled to his feet. "Sorry about that." He took one step then pretended to just notice he had dropped the map. "Woops, better take this with me, or I'll be lost in this city forever." He bent over and grabbed hold of the map by the fold. He pinched his fingers together firmly so he could effortlessly pull out the wallet that he had sandwiched between the map. Neither of them noticed anything as they stared at him wide-eyed and a little flustered in the wake of the shock of his sudden tumble.

He casually brushed dirt off the front of his jeans and wished them a nice day.

The lady smiled at him, too vain to suspect anything.

He walked out the door, crossed the street and disappeared around a corner. In a doorway he paused to take the wallet out from between the fold of the map and started sifting through it. The considerable amount of cash he pocketed. He opened the zipper to the compartment for change and wasn't all that surprised to find a golden wedding ring and diamond engagement ring mixed in with the pennies and nickels.

He thought about stuffing them securely in his breast pocket and schedule time to stop by a pawn shop later today, but he decided against it. He rationalized his actions by concluding that it was too risky to pawn items of such value and he never took big risks, thanks to which he had never gotten caught. License and registration he found in the wallet confirmed the expensive sedan belonged to the lady. He got out a notepad he always carried with him and tore off a page. On it he wrote, in handwriting that would not be recognizable as his own: 'Some things are meant to be priceless'.

He tucked away the road map, a tool he always had on him for situations like the one in the diner. He walked back to the street where the diner was located, the paper and the rings he had at the ready. He paused briefly by the car and clamped the note under the windshield paper and hid the rings behind it. He pretended to be leaning against the car for support to lift his foot and readjust the laces of his boots. People walked by without so much as a single glance. Then he stuffed his hands in his pocket and walked off in the other direction.

He didn't really pity the woman. If her husband would have asked her how her rings could have gone missing, it would be her problem. Rich people thought they didn't have to take responsibility for their mistakes. They were raised as entitled snobs. Mommy and daddy cleaned up after them. From dirty diapers to settling drunken hit-and-runs out of court. But Duo wasn't a punisher. He wasn't out to get them the way they were out to get him. Sometimes he liked to prove that – even though they would adamantly deny it – he was better than they were, in spite of what he did for a living. What he _had_ to do for a living. He didn't have a choice. He couldn't go to college, like they did. He didn't inherit daddy's enterprise, or collect his life insurance, like they did. What's a couple less papers in their pocket going to mean to them? They owed him at least that much.

He wasn't a bad person, they just arranged the ways of the world so he had to do bad things to survive.

With his hands tucked deep into the front pockets of his jeans he made his way home. The last cold days of winter fought to make an impression that would last the next three seasons, spitting out snow and gusts of wind. But the promise of spring already hung heavily in the air. Spring was a more opportune time for a pickpocket like himself. The breast pockets of the businessmen's suits were more accessible if they didn't have their cashmere - 'cash' as in: they have lots of it – overcoats layered over them.

Duo was no fool in the street business. The streets raised him, the streets fed him, the streets were the only higher education he had ever received. He was revered as one of the best, a reputation, he feared, had spun out of control and had long left reality behind as it happily indulged on rumors and exaggerations fuelled by J.J. In his opinion he was nothing more than a small time crook, but therein, he deemed, lay his genius. He comfortably flew under the radar and with no 'partner in crime' there was no one to rat him out, or to take a cut of his earnings. He would have gladly made an exception for J.J. but only for J.J. He didn't trust anybody else. Though he was probably an idiot for trusting J.J. Compassion, love and guilt made him weak towards the younger man. But J.J. wasn't a kid anymore, he couldn't just tell him what to do anymore and then proudly observe as J.J. did as instructed without question.

He kicked his boots against the wall next to the front door of the apartment building to shake off the snow that had gathered on the toes and had stuck to the laces. Calloused hands dug around his jacket pocket for the keys. The honk of a car directly behind him caused him to turn around. He squinted his eyes to peer through the falling snow.

In the parking space by the sidewalk was a dark red, dated sedan. The passenger side window rolled down and the driver leaned over to reveal his face.

Duo tucked his keys back into his pocket and slowly walked up to the passenger side door. He leaned his arm against the roof of the car and bent forward to look into the vehicle. "Hey."

"Hey." The smooth, baritone voice warmed Duo's ears that had been numbed by the cold wind. But it stung like frostbite in his chest.

"What are you doing here?" He tried to appear aloof.

"I was hoping to catch you."

"Have you been waiting here long?"

The driver looked down at his watch. "About fifteen minutes."

"Then you've wasted fifteen minutes of your life. Go home." He straightened up and prepared to walk back to the front door. To his dismay he heard a car door open.

"Can't we talk?" The handsome man asked, standing by his car. "I'd hate for things to end this way."

Duo snorted and turned around to glare at him. "It ended. It has long ended," He emphasized. "It ended when the trees were red and the first of the leaves had yet to drop. So what do you want from me now? Did she leave you?"

"No," Was the quiet reply.

"Well, congratulations!" He shot back sarcastically. He stomped back to the front door, grasped his keys and with the grace of the Lord he was able to quickly locate, insert and turn the right key, allowing him to flee behind the frosted glass of the door .

Yes, Duo thought to himself, it is much more preferable to remain invisible. When you are never part of something, you can never be disappointed by something, or abandoned by something.

He dragged his feet through the hall to the staircase in the back, past the bikes and a stack of crates full of empty beer bottles. His boots scuffed as he climbed two flights of stairs. He ran into one of the neighbors, but it wasn't the kind of building where people said hello to one another.

His small studio apartment was befitting of his modest and dishonest means. The severely damaged hardwood floors had been an unwise investment of the previous renter. The kitchen had missing and crooked cabinet doors. The grey couch he had bought at a thrift store, as well as most other furniture. They were in a thankfully decent state. The bathroom was just a sink with cracked mirror , toilet and narrow shower and some sort of mold on the ceiling from an old leak. The bed stood with the high headboard against the back of the couch. The sheets on the bed and the clothes in his closet were probably the only things he had ever bought new – or stolen new.

He shook off his coat and stalked over to the bathroom. Looking at his fractured reflection in the mirror he reached back and pulled his long hair, tied in a loose ponytail, out of his shirt. He always tucked his hair down the back of his shirt, if there was a possibility of a hunt. His long hair was a far too recognizable and identifiable feature. He always wore a scarf or a shirt or jacket with a high collar to hide the base of the ponytail. It was an imperfect disguise, but at least his long hair went mostly unnoticed. And people could never estimate how fair down his hair reached – all the way to the small of his back. Strategically he knew it would have been better if he would just cut it, but he could never quite bring himself to get rid of it, though that mirror had seen him holding a pair of scissors to the back of his head many times.

Some things are meant to be priceless.

He undid the ponytail and started braiding the long hair, his preferred way to wear it around the apartment. Upon completion he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He grazed his fingernails through the dark stubble on his jaw. He made a disproving face at his reflection and then switched off the light and headed back into the living room.

The long haired man trailed back to the front door where he had dropped his coat and picked it up to retrieve his spoils of the day. Over two hundred dollars, excellent, especially considering he hadn't even gone out with the intention of hunting, although it was always in the back of his mind and he was never one to pass on an opportunity. He hid the money under a loose floorboard. He would save up the money for a month, gathering it under the floor, allowing himself only meager rations for daily living. At the end of the month he would deposit the entire sum at the bank. The employees there he had made to believe that he was a caring father who was saving up for college for his sons, but wanted it to be a surprise for his wife. It was the most effective way he could think of to explain away the fact that he did not have another bank account with the bank, with a steady influx of wages and the kind of withdrawals that would be made by a family of four – which he claimed to have. He would have preferred to keep everything in his own apartment, where he felt he had more control, but he used to have trouble leaving his place, fearing a robbery or a fire that would leave him with nothing.

He was saving up for himself. He didn't intend to live that life forever. He wanted to make something of himself. Create for himself the opportunities that the more fortunate specimens of society had denied him; education, a real job, an actual house.

Of course saving up is not an easy task when your best and only friend, whom you consider and feel protective towards like a little brother, keeps getting into trouble.

'When was the last time you wrote me a check?' J.J. had defiantly asked at the diner, ruining his breakfast.

The last time he wrote J.J. a check he had to start all over again with his savings and that wasn't as long ago as J.J. liked to pretend.

The faces of the employees at the bank were unbelievable when I was forced to take out practically the entire sum to bail out J.J., thinking the father of two was cashing in his sons' college money for an illegitimate reason.

Following a hot drink Duo took a cold shower – the warm water never did work – and shaved his face, returning to his appearance that boyish quality that gave him a particular air of innocence that never made people suspect he was up to no good.

He toyed with his wayward bangs, fretting as they always seemed to fall precisely how he didn't want them to. From his closet he picked his finest shirt and his most flattering pair of slacks. He owned a pair of shoes that he only used for occasions like these. He didn't want to mess them up. He slipped back into his jacket and headed outside. Not in possession of a car – there was nothing of value that he owned – he had to walk the twelve blocks to his destination.

The tall man rounded a corner and the church appeared like a lighthouse in the storm, it's solid walls promising protection, safety.

He never went to mass anymore. He didn't feel like he belonged. He never felt as much of a crook as he did in those hard, wooden benches, listening to the priest speak dedicatedly of Christ's suffering for our sins.

He wiped the snow off a bench in the park flanking the humble church, and took a seat. He looked up at the tower. The bell was quiet. Memories of a past life were inevitable. Any other time of the day he would push those thoughts from his mind, but enveloped by the warmth of the house of God – a house that was once, quite literally, his home – he felt safe enough to allow those memories to overcome him. He smiled at the ghost feeling of gentle fingers braiding his considerably shorter hair.

He made an effort to go to the church as often as he could bear that kind of influx of memories, but he never came to pray. The definition of stupidity was to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome. He had wasted a childhood and adolescence on unanswered prayers. He wasn't about to make a fool out of himself by continuing that pattern. He didn't think God to be a bad guy, he had been taught to think differently, but he had come to understand over the course of many difficult years that God was powerless. Otherwise, he had to believe he would have intervened at some point. God was like any other father – but the only father he ever had – in the sense that he is loving and protective to the best of his abilities, but ultimately powerful against the unfair hardship of life.

Tsubarov had it right. There were only two powers in life: blood and money. Blood - or genetics - determine whether you are going to be smart or not and whether you are going to be part of a wealthy family or not. And your wealth will shape the rest of your life; money is a stepping stone under your feet, if you have it, but an eternal uphill battle with a massive boulder, like the mythical Greek Sisyphus, if you don't.

The Haves and the Have Nots. The right blood and the wrong blood. Money and no money.

Duo had accepted his fate as one of the Have Nots. He was remarkably observant, but not academically smart – at least not smart enough to transcend the world he was born into -, he was born the son of a crack whore mother and deadbeat dad, who dropped him off on the granite steps of a church in the dead of night. He was homeschooled by the nurse who ran the adjacent orphanage, but spent most his time on the streets begging for money as the orphanage went broke. No one with stuffed pocket books ever cared enough to keep the boys orphanage afloat. Once his home was gone, set alight one night, his life on the streets began; sleeping on cold pavement, having his shoes stolen and wiping his ass with yesterday's newspaper taken from the garbage.

You can't fight odds like that.

The bells started to chime. The sound reverberated in his chest and echoed through the empty street, bouncing off the facades of the empty buildings as this part of the city went to hell, poverty and crime reducing it to a ghost town.

The three rings alerted him to how long he had been there. Snow had gathered in his lap and on his broad shoulders. He dusted himself off and rose off the bench. His quiet moment of contemplation had to end, he had to return to the unhinged chaos of his life.

The seasons continued to change – although nothing else ever did. Spring brought the trees lining the streets back to life. Summer brought the people back to life. Tourists returned to view the uptown marvels in the improved weather conditions. More expensive cars passed through the streets on their way to the country club at the city's perimeter. The warmth erased the memory of the harsh winter and soothed the pain of the daily grind like a mother's kiss on a skinned knee. The city's shopping district was packed with women in short skirts and men with short thoughts; both smiling.

It was a hot night, with the windows wide open and the curtains barely moving in the faintest hint of a breeze, that was interrupted by the shrill cry of the phone.

At the offending noise Duo shoot straight up in bed, his hair every which way, his shirt on the floor and his sweats around one ankle as he had worked his way out of them during the night, barely conscious but driven crazy by the heat.

The sound continued and it took him a moment to identify it after being awoken from a strange dream that he had instantly forgotten.

He rolled to the other side of the bed where the phone stood on the single nightstand. He picked it up and brought it to his ear. Absent-mindedly, struggling to shake the effects of deep sleep, he wondered who was calling while his burning, squinted eyes looked to find a clock, curious to find out exactly how ungodly the hour was.

"Duo, I'm in trouble," The person on the other line breathed shakily, foregoing an introduction.

Duo rubbed his eyes. The phone call, in spite of its nature, had yet to shock him. What was truly shocking was how much he had gotten used to distressed calls like these, even after not receiving them for the past few months it didn't frazzle him. "J.J., what happened?" He asked groggily, not overcome with sympathy.

"I'm in serious trouble, serious trouble," His younger friend whispered. His voice crackled through the line.

"J.J., it's four AM," He pointed out when he finally located his watch, that had fallen into one of his slippers at the side of the bed. The moon through the open window was bright enough to illuminate the hands.

"I know, I know! And don't you think I wouldn't be calling at this hour unless I really need your help?"

Duo sighed. "J.J., you sound tweaked out. Go to sleep. Call me tomorrow. When you're sober things might not seem so bad."

"Things will seem worse! Things will _be_ worse! Look, bro, I really need your help," He sniffled.

"Bro?" Duo mirrored, followed by a snort. "You don't return my calls for months and now I'm your 'bro' again?"

"Hey man, you were the one who was being a self-righteous dick at the diner!- But that's not important right now. We're still family, aren't we? We'll always be family, right?"

"Of course we'll always be family, but-" He brought the phone down into his lap and groaned and ran his hand through his hair. He brought it back up to his ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

J.J. breathed a sigh of relief. "I did something really stupid, man," He admitted, his voice suddenly had an amused tone to it.

Duo rolled his eyes. He loved his 'little brother', but he always did do stupid things.

"Can you loan me some cash? I promise I'll pay you back."

J.J. always promised to pay him back but he had never seen a single dime in return for all the times he bailed him out.

"I know I say that all the time, but this time I really mean it. I promise, bro."

"Tell me what you did," Duo demanded to know impatiently.

There was a short pause, then a nervous laugh. "It's actually really funny."

"I'm sure I'll have hoot," He shot back sarcastically, "Tell me."

"Well, there was this really big deal going down at the dock," J.J. started apprehensively. "Me and Komarov pulled up with the coke in the hidden safe under the floor in the trunk and the musclemen trailing us in another car. We waited like two hours for the buyer show up, but he turns out to be a no-show. So we decide to give up on the deal, we send the big dudes home and we were about to take the coke back to the warehouse when we figured we might as well make the best of the night. We had already done a line or two while waiting, so we were pumped man, we couldn't just turn in for the night," He said like it was logical. "So we head for the club. Nobody knows about the coke in the car anyway! But Komarov, he told Tsubarov that he left with the musclemen and told me to take the load back to the warehouse! That is not true, man! He went right in there with me and he got shitfaced on the barstool right next to mine! But now Tsubarov blames it all on me!"

Duo shook his head as he tried to make sense of J.J.'s hurried words. "Wait, what? What does he blame you for?"

"The missing coke, bro!"

"Missing?"

"Well, stolen."

"How can it be stolen? You said no one knew you had it in the car!" He buried his hands in his hair. For the first time in days his body was shivering and his skin was covered with goosebumps.

"Yeah, but the thing is, we figured that we might be able to sell some of the coke to some cats at the club and maybe… maybe in the process one of us ran his mouth and told that we had it with us… Or maybe we were just bragging, I don't know."

Duo cradled the phone in his hands and took a deep breathe to settle his coiling stomach. He had the sinking feeling this call was worse than the usual calls.

"We walked out of the club and headed for the car but halfway there we get jumped on by some dudes and they pummeled us! And you know what a big guy Komarov is, but they really pummeled him too, he didn't stand a chance!"

Of course, Duo thought to himself bitterly, he was drunk and high.

"Then they whip out these cannons of pistols and shove them in our faces!" His voice started to get shaky again, like it had been at the start of the call. As if he suddenly remembered how dire the situation was. "They made us pull out the coke, man! We had no choice, they would have shot us dead!"

At his screaming Duo calmed him down with some sympathetic and understanding words.

J.J. eventually continued. "But like I said, now Komarov pretends that he wasn't even there and that I had gone into the club by myself and that it was all my fault and Tsubarov believed him!"

"Of course he believed him, Komarov is his dimwit baby nephew, he doesn't think he has the theory of mind to lie!"

"I'm really in big shit, Duo…It was a big shipment, man…" J.J. said in a vulnerable, pathetic voice. "I really need you to loan me some cash, bro. I have to pay him back for the coke, or else…"

He didn't need to elaborate on the 'or else'. The occasional newspaper article painted a pretty clear picture of what happened to people who crossed Tsubarov. "Well… how much do you need?"

It was silent for a long time.

"J.J.?"

He said something, but it was indistinct. Though it sounded a little like a number he couldn't bear to trust his ears on.

"J.J., how much?"

"… about a hundred."

Duo's heart dropped into his gut. "About?" He asked, more to deflect his shock than out of desire to actually know.

"One hundred and twenty-five thousand…"

For the third time Duo brought the phone down from his face. _Shit!_ He heard J.J. calling his name through the speaker. He felt sick and overwhelmed with helplessness. His own powerlessness and that of the God he had always trusted to put his faith in were painfully obvious. "Duo, I'm sorry I'm asking you for money again. I know I said I can take care of myself, but I just need your help one more time and I promise I'll pay you back," He heard J.J. say once he brought the handset back up. He felt on the brink of tears. It was probably his own fault that J.J. assumed this problem could be easily solved. He always did make it easy for him, always swooping in to rescue him. No matter how much he wanted to, it wasn't as simple as 'swooping in' this time. "J.J. …" He started after a deep breath, "I don't have that kind of money."

"What are you talking about?" He sounded honestly perplexed. "You are always saving up. You've been saving up for years."

"Yes and I spent nearly all my savings paying back your debt to Tsubarov the last time. Remember? Two years ago? When you were so high you sold forty-thousand dollars' worth of coke for about half the price? The money I 'loaned' you was all I had. And you know I don't do big jobs. I don't take big risks which means I don't rake in the large sums."

"So… so what are we talking about here? Give me a number. Maybe we can find a way to bridge the gap," he suggested nonchalantly.

"Dammit, J.J! You're not listening! I only have about ten-thousand dollars! That's all I got!"

Another long silence stretched. "Are you just saying that because you don't want to lend me the money?"

"Fuck you! Fuck you, Jared!" He yelled and he felt the first of the hot tears stream down his face, erupting in a state of frustration and desperation. "I always clean up your shit and this time would have been no different but I don't have that kind of money!"

"What am I supposed to do now?" J.J. asked pleadingly, his voice getting high-pitched with despair as it started to sink in that 'big brother' really wasn't going to be able to just make his problem go away. "He's going to kill me! He's going to fucking kill me!"

"Shhh, shhh, it's going to be okay," He tried, his heart wrenching. "We'll figure something out. We just have to find a way to get the money."

"How the fuck are we going to do that?"

"I don't know yet, but we'll figure something out," He assured him with feigned confidence. He steeled his nerves and promised him solemnly: "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Two**

The gates hung crooked on their hinges and were bowed inward, leaving the distinct shape of the nose of a large vehicle used to force the gates open. The chain-link of the fence rattled in the summer-storm wind. The left gate scratched along the concrete floor as it moved back and forth as much as the wind could sway it. Old leaves that had fallen seasons ago when the trees lining the perimeter shed in preparation of winter, dragged along the ground and betrayed small, circular patterns in the winds as they danced around the open space of the courtyard.

The warehouse itself looked as neglected as the grounds surrounding it. Most of the windows of the façade had been broken, the walls had been vandalized by kids misspelling curse words and misquoting lyrics to explicit rap-songs. The metal window frames and the drain pipes were rusted to a point beyond recognition; they had more resemblance to something salvaged from a sunken ship than anything else.

Above the door were barely legible words that read: OSCAR BROTHERS SOAP COMPANY. But the clean, fresh smell of the products that were once stored there was long gone, replaced by the foul smell of an open sewer somewhere nearby and the blanket of smog drifting down from the network of elevated highways – the rushing of traffic was still audible.

To all the industrial area would seem as abandoned as an urban landscape could possibly be. The condemned building was suitable for man nor soap, it appeared the promised land for nothing other than rabid animals and tetanus infections.

Still, as soon as Duo stepped through the open gates, a bulky man appeared from the shadows and approached him with a languid pace. He was shaven, his bald head tattooed with spider-webs and gang-signs, he had dark sweat stains on the front of his once-white shirt and under his armpits as well. As the distance between them decreased Duo could hear his deep, rasping breaths.

Rabid animals indeed, he thought to himself. Not in the least intimidated by the man's large frame which, if anything, made him cumbersome and sluggish, he walked right up to him.

The man inhaled with a nasty wheeze as he stopped in front of the intruder and appraised him. "Lost your way, tourist?" He spat. He stuffed his big hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

"I need to talk to Tsubarov," Duo declared defiantly.

"As if he would waste his time on you."

"I'm pretty sure he is expecting me, actually," He argued. "Do you really want to risk disappointing your boss by not letting me in?"

The man just stared back at him, perhaps thinking it over.

"What's the problem? Surely I'm not a security risk. What harm could I possibly do?"

He grumbled under his breath and then flicked away the cigarette – barely more than the butt – that he had been rolling between his lips disinterestedly. "Spread 'em," He ordered gruffly.

"What?"

The buffed-up male impatiently grabbed both Duo's arms and spread them wide. He kicked his foot against the inside of Duo's ankle. "Legs too."

As Duo complied the man quickly frisked him, running his big hands along his arms, patting his sides and back and gripping his legs from the thighs down to the ankles. "You've got a tender grip there, my friend," The long-haired man ground out sarcastically, wincing as his muscles were painfully kneaded.

The man pulled a silver Zippo lighter from Duo's sock. Straightening up he quirked a bushy eyebrow at him before giving it back to him, since it was obviously not a threat.

"Pickpockets man, they're the worst." Duo flashed him a grin.

"Come on." He started towards the entry of the seemingly abandoned building.

He knelt down to tuck his lighter back into his sock, then scampered after his guide, who was waiting for him by the door, holding it open for him.

"Thank you, Milord," He jested as he walked past him.

The man replied dryly: "Milady."

He mock-laughed. "Ah, braid-jokes. Those never get old." He pulled the plait of long hair over his shoulder and absent-mindedly toyed with the feathery end. He couldn't deny anxiety fluttered in his stomach as he walked further into the darkness, pausing only to let the guard take the lead and blindly guide him down a corridor. He didn't think Tsubarov would hurt him, mostly because he suspected the man was smart enough to realize that he wasn't going to see a penny from J.J. – let alone one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars – if he killed his mentor; because ultimately Duo was the one tasked with coming up with the money. J.J., on his own, could only fail. Still, in spite of this relative security he was aware that many people walked into this building and never walked out. Once Tsubarov loses his patience, he cares more for the thrill of watching someone die than finally getting his money.

He was led up a flight of stairs, meanwhile his guide awarded him a private, non-verbal tour, pointing at bullet holes in the walls and dried bloodstains on the floor.

"Is this all part of the evil-lair-experience?" Duo deadpanned, making a face when he noticed a dead rat stuck in a patch of mold.

"I'm just letting you know how far others got, trying to escape."

"Thank you. It's inspiring."

He turned around and smirked at the guest. "Here we go, Milady." He pushed the double doors at the end of the hallway open and led the way inside.

Duo felt his stomach turn as he stepped onto the grated floor of the walkway that led into the main space of the warehouse. Beneath his feet he could see a twenty-five foot drop to the concrete floor below.

They followed the walkway that crossed right through the open space. There were still some odd old crates labeled 'SOAP' stacked on top of each other in the corners. Finally they reached a staircase that took them down to the warehouse floor. The tall windows were intact but had mold and moss growing on them, creating a play of irregular shapes of yellow light and dark shadows on the floor. A handful of people – pale and suspicious looking – eyed the newcomers.

Against the back wall was a large chair, elevated on a podium constructed of crates. Seated in the make-shift throne was an older man of slight, practically frail built, dressed in an oversized suit of fine material meant to compensate for his lacking physique, with stuffed shoulders and excess fabric. Beady eyes set deep into a wrinkly face focused on his guest.

"He insisted on seeing you, said you might be expecting him, sir. He is unarmed," Announced the broad-shouldered escort.

"Unarmed?" The older man shifted in his seat, interested in the visit. "Duo, you disappoint me. I thought surely you would have learned by now how dangerous I am."

"I don't do guns. I prefer a more personal approach," Replied Duo glibly.

Tsubarov cackled. "Duo, you are not impressing me with this routine." He waved his hand to dismiss the guard that had led his guest inside, sending him back to his post at the front door.

He balled his fists but hid them in the deep pockets of his loose jeans. He looked around at the men surrounding him, drug-dealers and henchmen. They were grinning at him.

Tsubarov continued to chuckle breathlessly. "Are you going to make me suffer the formality of asking you why you are here?"

"Maybe I should ask you why _you_ are here. This place is a dump. Normally you are shacked up some place fit for royalty. Are you finally admitting that this is where you belong, between the other filth of this town?"

Tsubarov inhaled deeply through his nose in dismay at Duo's defiant attitude. "The police made a good effort at shutting down operations," He explained. "This 'shack' is only a temporary fix. My lawyers got the DA to drop the charges against me, it won't be long until they give up on their most recent, futile investigation and release the mansion." He snapped his fingers at one of the men who rushed to bring him a thick binder from a table across the room. "But you are here to discuss business of an entirely different kind, are you not?" He mumbled around the cigarette. He unceremoniously leafed through the pages until coming to an abrupt stop.

"What's that?"

He smirked. "It's my big book of names. Just like Santa's book, this has the names of all the little boys and girls who have been good and who have been naughty. J.J.'s name always turns up in the naughty section, isn't that fascinating?"

Duo shrugged. "Is there a special subsection labeled 'Stupid'? That's where I have him filed."

The drug-lord laughed heartily. "There is indeed a 'Stupid'-section. You are in there too."

The other men joined their boss in laughter.

Tsubarov leaned forward in his seat. "Duo, do you really think this Devil-may-care attitude of yours towards J.J. is going to fool me? You love that little imp and you would do _anything_ to keep him safe." He tapped the book. "There isn't a debt in here that J.J. has paid back himself. I know who I am supposed to keep an eye on when the dimwit owes me money." He winked at the guest of honor. "Don't leave town, mister Maxwell. It would not be in your best interest."

The group laughed again at the veiled threat.

With raised voice Duo interrupted the laughter: "How long have you given him to pay you back?"

He smirked. "I've given the deadline a lot of thought. Obviously a couple of street rats like you can't come up with an amount like the one J.J. owes just like that. I've surprised myself with my own generosity towards the two of you. Normally a debt has to be paid within a week or two – you know I am an impatient man. But I could not resist the poetic irony of setting the deadline on the first Monday of September: Labor day."

More mocking snickers echoed through the empty hall.

The American felt his hands and forehead were starting to sweat. "Labor day? That's five weeks from now!'

"It's as reasonable as I can possible be."

"What's reasonable about asking someone to pay that kind of money within a five week period?! How are we supposed to pull this off?"

"I don't know," Tsubarov mocked, shrugging his shoulders. "Work really hard?" The sarcastic remark was received by the crowd with a collective guffaw.

Duo clenched his jaw. "Please, if you want your money, you have to give us more time."

"Duo, Duo, Duo…" He waved his finger back and forth. "You know better than to ask for an extension. A good boss gives his employees strict deadlines to keep up work-productivity."

"What happens if we don't make it?"

"Then the price goes up as I see fit. Until…"

Duo swallowed. He already knew the answer, but still he asked: "Until?"

"Until I grow bored of playing games with you two and I have J.J. killed and make sure that you can watch." His lips curved in an evil smile. "I could very well be doing you a favor, letting you watch. You might enjoy it, after all the trouble this silly boy has caused you. And of course once your dear little brother is dead, I will need someone to replace him on my staff."

"This isn't fair! You know damn well half of J.J.'s debt belongs to Komarov!"

Tsubarov sighed, growing tired of entertaining his guest. "Komarov swore on his mother's grave that J.J. is to blame. How am I not supposed to take his word for it, his mother was my beloved sister after all."

"Please-"

"Don't beg!" Tsubarov barked with booming voice, which also made his subordinates uneasy. "There is nothing quite so disgusting as seeing a grown man beg. This is business, Duo."

"I never wanted to get into business with you," The American seethed.

"Then you should have kept a shorter leash on your idiot baby brother!" He nodded at two of his men. "Get this rat out of here."

Duo glared at the men as they approached him. When they reached for his arms he pushed one of them away. "I can fucking walk myself out, thank you very much."

The men looked to their boss for direction.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Let him go. He'll find his way back on his own."

Duo eyed the lot of them, pushing one away who was still too close to him to his liking. Then he started back towards the exit.

"Don't drag your feet Duo," Tsubarov ridiculed as the long haired man made his way up the stairs. "Remember, you don't have much time to spare."

He turned around and spat at him: "I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of killing him."

The drug-lord sneered: "Good. Give me the satisfaction of your money. It's all the same to me."

Blood and money is all he cares about, Duo heard himself say in a faded memory. _His_ blood – his family – and the blood of his enemies sprayed on the walls. Trembling with a combination of rage, frustration and fear he got out of there with a hurried pace. He sucked in breaths through his nose once he burst through the front door. The air inside the building had been stale and stifling, it had started to feel suffocating.

"Hey, Milady!"

He spun around and spotted the guard hiding behind a pillar. He froze as the man approached him, who knew what kind of orders his boss might have called it as soon as Duo had left the 'conference room'.

The man demonstratively put a cigarette between his smirking lips. "Give me a light?"

He clenched his jaw. "Sure." He bent over to retrieve the lighter from his sock and tossed it to the man.

He caught it but rather than lighting his smoke he toyed with it idly. "You owe the big boss some money?"

"What's it to you?" Duo shot back.

He smiled broadly, revealing yellowed and missing teeth and red, irritated gums, likely the result of a serious meth habit. He finally lit his cigarette and stepped forward to hand the lighter back to the owner. When Duo reached for his lighter the man grabbed his wrist strongly and wouldn't let go, even as Duo struggled. "I'll give you a head start. I'll give you fifty bucks if you suck me off."

The long-haired man was let go of and he staggered backwards.

He let out an ill chortle that provoked a wheezing cough.

Not wasting any time Duo headed for the gates with large, fast strides. He heard the man call after him: "Come on! I think I made you a pretty generous offer!" Even though he didn't want to give the man the pleasure of seeing he had had an effect on him, Duo started to run and when he heard laughter echo on the courtyard he ran faster and he didn't stop until the burning muscles of his thighs required him to.

The way back to his apartment building wasn't very long. His home was in the same part of town, with the abandoned industrial area to the North and the snaking twin highways to the West. Right on the outskirts of the city, the peripheral neighborhoods, was where good but poor people lived, who ultimately saw themselves die as scum. They got laid off work when the factories and the warehouses closed and the urban companies trimmed 'the fat' as the financial crisis dragged on. Corporations that had managed to survive the first year, died the second. If they made it through the second year, the third year would hit them hard. Bus drivers, schoolteachers, factory workers… turned drug dealers, car thieves and muggers.

Meanwhile, uptown, buildings of glass and steel were erected at a murderous pace; national and international enterprises settling headquarters and satellite offices where ground, workers and building contracts were cheap and easy to come by. Every new building aimed to be a little higher than the previous; stand a little taller, stand a little more proudly. Fat cats having a pissing contest, dripping on the blue collar of the common man without even the courtesy of calling it rain. These guys spent one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars on diamond watches, aged cognac and streamlined cars that can't get over a fucking speed bump. They spent it frivolously with complete disregard for the fact that people get killed over that kind of money. Some obese asshole bursting out of the seams of his Italian suit could pay the debt J.J. owed Tsubarov from their spoiled kid's pocket money!

Even at that distance he could see them glimmer, the towers that cast long shadows on the city.

Duo grumbled under his breath as he stomped the last few blocks home. It's so unfair! He thought to himself. He rounded the corner into his street. A few steps removed from the front door of his building he stopped and groaned.

Seated on the doorstep was the hunched over, slim frame of Jared Jensen, staring intently at a deck of cards he held as his bony hands practiced a trick – and failed. The younger man seemed to become aware of the cold stare and looked over. He jumped up when he spotted his brother a few feet away and pocketed the deck of cards. "Hey man! How did it go?" His tone of voice was hopeful, which made Duo want to throttle him.

He could instantly tell he was high. He dug his keys out of his pocket and approached the door.

"Dude, don't keep me in suspense!" J.J. followed him inside, nearly bumping into his brother's taller frame when the older man stopped abruptly and spun around to face him.

"What were you expecting?!" Duo demanded and then continued down the hall and up the stairs to his studio apartment.

"Look man, Tsubarov likes you. I thought that if you went over he would be willing to give us a little while to come up with the money. Seriously now, what did he say? What is the deadline?"

Duo snorted and threw his gaze up at the moldy ceiling. "Tsubarov doesn't _like_ me," He emphasized, "He likes playing games with me. Besides… Jesus Christ… He doesn't like anybody enough to sway him to be merciful." He pushed the door open and threw his bundle of keys on the kitchen counter. He started pacing back and forth in the living room, anxious and restless.

"So, what? He gave us the regular week? Two weeks?" J.J. eyed the older man curiously.

Duo rubbed his temples, overwhelmed by a sudden, sharp headache. "We have until Labor day."

"Labor day?" J.J. repeated positively. "That's like two months from now."

He paused and stared at him incredulously. "It's five weeks from now, idiot."

He frowned dumbly. "Is it August already?"

The American man bit his lower lip as he felt it start to quiver, he was so frustrated he was on the verge of tears.

"Well, five weeks is way more than he usually gives," He reasoned with an upbeat tone. "I think we can work with this."

A dark laugh erupted out of Duo. "Oh, really? When did you start making twenty-five thousand dollars a week and why didn't you tell me?"

"If you put it that way…" The other replied meekly, slumping his shoulders.

"How else am I supposed to put it, little brother?" He spat, waving his arms around himself angrily. "We have five weeks to get one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. That boils down to twenty-five a week. Think! For Christ's sake."

J.J. let out a deep breath and opened the refrigerator door to fetch a bottle of beer. "You're really high strung," He observed quietly.

Duo crossed the room in three large paces and snatched the beer out of his hand. "J.J., I swear to God. You better start taking this seriously or Tsubarov is going to have to get in line if he wants to kill you." He stabbed at his chest with his accusing, pointed index finger.

The frail young man pushed him away. "You want to be serious? Really?!"

"Yes!"

"Okay, then let's be serious! You and I both know how to fix this."

Duo raised his eyebrows and shot back sarcastically: "Oh, do we? Pray tell."

"Your little boyfriend-"

"Ex-boyfriend," Duo corrected habitually.

He rolled his eyes. "Your little _ex_ -boyfriend is the trusted brother of a loan shark. He could get you the money."

"You want to pay off one debt by making another?"

J.J. shrugged. "You could work out a reasonable payment-plan with him, based on your history together."

"Fuck you!" Duo exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as the headache throbbed. He moved over to the ratty couch and dropped down on it, propping his feet up on the armrest of the other end. He took a swig from the bottle of beer he had taken from J.J.

"You know I'm right."

The tall man took a deep, calming breath through his nose and closed his eyes. Flatly, he asked: "You want me to go see my ex, who broke my heart, to beg him to pay off our debt to Tsubarov?"

"What other option do we have? Unless _you_ started making twenty-five thousand dollars a week and didn't tell me about it."

Duo cracked one eye open. "I hate you, J.J." He sat up with a groan and finished the beer.

The thin young man lowered himself down to sit on the coffee table. "You don't mean that…"

"You're right. I don't." He chewed the inside of his cheek. In a whisper he added morosely: "But I should."

J.J. smiled. His teeth were yellow and filthy yet it was still a smile that could melt Duo's heart. "We're going to be okay. We're going to make it. We always do, big brother. Just you and me."

"Yeah? Or just me, more often than not."

J.J. leaned forward to embrace his brother. "I know, I'm sorry you always have to save me. But you know how grateful I am. And from now on it's going to be different. I promise."

"Don't make any promises you can't keep."

"I promise, it is going to be different," J.J. repeated solemnly.

He huffed. "It _is_ going to be different," Duo asserted. "I can't keep doing this J.J. This is the last time." How many times had he said that over the past few years? He wondered inwardly. In spite of his threats and in spite of his ever-recurring determination to let J.J. take responsibility for his own mistakes, he knew he would always be there for the younger man. It was his duty as the 'big brother'. He hated seeing what J.J. had become, but still he wouldn't be able to stand losing him. Seeing the once vibrant and clever young man waste away under the influence of alcohol and a variety of drugs was a relentless source of pain, but he had to keep doing the best he could. He had to keep fighting for him. After all, Duo Maxwell doesn't make any promises he can't keep.

He sighed. "Go home J.J. Get some rest. Sleep off whatever it is you're on."

"I'm clean!" The younger one argued, with wide, blood-shot eyes.

"Don't fucking dare lie to me right now, Jared!"

"Fine. I'll go sleep it off." He chuckled sheepishly. "Oops, shouldn't make any promises I can't keep." He got up and started towards the door. He threw a glance over his shoulder. "You're going to talk to your boyfriend, right?"

"Ex-boyfriend…" Duo ran a hand through his hair. "He has a name, you know?"

J.J. nodded. "That's right. 'Motherfucking Asshole'." He smiled innocently at Duo's frown. "What? That's what you always call him." He pulled the door shut behind him.

He slumped in his seat, feeling exhausted and deflated. He doubted if asking for another loan could really solve their problem. Nothing in life was ever that simple. Nothing in his life, at least.

He lingered on the couch, staring at the damp stain on the wall in front of him. The quickly downed beer agitated his already nervous stomach. He hated begging other people for help, he wasn't like that - he may not have had much, but he had his pride – to do it twice in one day made his skin crawl, especially since he didn't like these people; he didn't want to see these people; he always made an active effort to avoid these very people. Somehow, going to see his ex-lover frightened him much more than visiting the infamous drug-lord. Tsubarov could harm him, torture him, kill him even, but Duo knew nothing hurt as much as the stab to the heart that leaves blood nor scar and only someone who knew him well could exploit the weaknesses in his armor to deliver a blow like that.

The last time he had seen him the man had been loitering outside in his car, over six months ago. He didn't like being faced with him then, he would like it even less this time.

Since usual office hours didn't apply to loan sharks, he showered, dressed and had dinner and took a nap on the couch before he decided to head out when the hour approached midnight. Dressed in his best clothes that were supposed to make him feel safe and invincible, like he was clad in a suit of armor, he walked six blocks to arrive at an unpresumptuous, commonplace bar with an Irish theme called SHAMROCK. The fraudulent business that took place there was oafishly hinted at in the name. The bar was nothing more than a front for the unlawful way in which the owners made their living; loaning dimwits cash, demanding steep interests and penalizing late payments with beatings and progressively serious maiming.

All in a day's work.

Duo knew a lot of people with missing fingers or one ear.

He pushed the squeaking door open, effectively making himself one of the dimwits.

For most people getting in debt with these guys wasn't much worse than owing Tsubarov money, but J.J. was right – even a broken clock is correct two times a day – the personal connection he shared with a partner in the business could help him negotiate a lenient pay-off-schedule.

There were only two other 'patrons' present, they nursed strong drinks, paying no attention to him.

Duo started towards the bar, his movements slowing, his steps getting shorter as he approached, until he came to a halt in the middle of the space and he just stared with a pained expression.

The bartender was a beautiful man. His white dress-shirt appeared luminous in the shadowy bar. His slicked back, raven black hair shone in the cool, blue light coming in through the door to the backroom. His sharp features were stern and focused as he tasked himself with cleaning the bar, taking his job so seriously, even though it was a sham. Duo knew he always looked like that – so zeroed-in on whatever he was doing, like nothing else existed around him – even during sex. It had been the most incredible feeling, to have a person stare into his eyes like that.

That intense gaze found him all of a sudden and he stared back with the slightest expression of surprise on his exotic features.

The American took a deep breath and moved forward, taking a seat at the bar.

The bartender quietly fixed him a drink; vodka sour, his usual. As he handed it to him he remarked neutrally: "I didn't think I would ever see you again. I fact, I was sure you never wanted to see my face again."

Duo took a big swig and made a face. "Trust me, WuFei, I'm not here because I want to be," He said with strained voice. He nodded at the open backdoor. He could hear bits and pieces of a muffled conversation in Chinese. "How's the family business going?"

"Couldn't tell you. I try to stay out of it as much as possible lately. I'm just the bartender now."

"Hn." Duo put a cigarette between his lips and struggled with his zippo to light it. "So when you came home that one time with your shirt all red… You're telling me now that was cranberry juice from mixing cranberry martinis?"

"I don't do that anymore. Getting my shirt stained, that is." WuFei exhaled through his nose and reached across the bar, stealing the unlit cigarette and discarding it in the trash. "When did you start smoking again?"

"Some things just require more than one of those stupid patches."

The bartender cocked his head. "You started smoking again because of me?" There was a hint of guilt in his voice only Duo could recognize.

Duo retrieved a new cigarette and succeeded in lighting it, warning the bartender with a dangerous glare when he attempted to take it from him again. "Don't flatter yourself. Ask me why I am here."

He snorted and put his hands on his hips. "Fine. Why are you here?" He inquired dryly.

"I need to borrow some cash."

The Asian male narrowed his eyes at him, he knew Duo wouldn't normally make the mistake of getting into the water with the sharks. "Why?" He demanded, although he must already have a strong inkling.

Duo took another drink, trying to keep his demeanor casual, pretend that his palms weren't sweaty and that he wasn't nervously jiggling his foot. "J.J. is in trouble."

"J.J. is always in trouble," Was the unimpressed, matter-of-fact reply. He picked up a glass and started polishing it with the cloth in his hand.

He shook his head, feeling his braid brush across his back. "This time it's serious. He's in 'Tsubarov-trouble'."

The recoil was nearly imperceptible. A concerned scowl formed on his forehead. "That is serious." He hesitated, then probed casually: "How much do you need?"

Duo let out a shaky breath before admitting in a hushed whisper: "One twenty-five."

The bartender laughed, assuming it to be a joke.

"There is nothing funny about this," Duo glared at his former lover.

The man fell silent, embarrassed at the misunderstanding. "Apparently not."

He waited for the man to make him an offer, or call the others, who were in the backroom, so he could mediate a deal, but WuFei remained quiet and pensively stared at the glass in his hand. Growing impatient and increasingly sick with nerves, Duo pressed: "So can you get me the money?"

He blinked and carefully put away the glass. Stalling, the bartender poured a fresh vodka sour. "No."

Duo felt his heart clench as the realization started to claw at him that he had been right in assuming it wouldn't be as easy as J.J. made it sound. "No?"

WuFei avoided eye-contact.

"Come on man! You owe me!" Burst Duo, slamming his balled fists down on the surface of the bar.

The raven-haired man leaned forward and hissed: "I owe you an apology. I do not owe you money."

Duo scoffed. "I'm not asking you to do me any favors. It's strictly business!"

WuFei reiterated: "I can't lend you that kind of money."

In a sheer state of desperation he demanded: "Why the fuck not?"

"Because I know you, Duo. You won't be able to pay it back."

He sat back in his seat and stared at his ex incredulously. "Jesus, what the fuck is this? Did I accidentally walk into the American National Bank? I didn't realize I had to bring my employment records and impeccable bank statements! You're a fucking loan shark for God's sake!"

"I'm not the loan shark, my… 'associates' are. Like I said, I'm just here to pour the drinks now." At the roll of Duo's eyes he explained: "I know you, Duo. You're a smart guy but you spend your life scraping at the bottom of the barrel, you never take big jobs, you won't be able to pay it back. You might not be in 'Tsubarov-trouble' at that point, but you will be in trouble." He glanced at the backdoor again. "I'm doing you a favor by refusing you this loan. Trust me." With almost uncharacteristically gentle eyes he added: "I may not have loved you the way you wanted me to, but I do care for you. I have your best interests at heart. I don't want to see you getting hurt."

With past hurts scratched at and made raw and exposed again Duo lashed out. "Fuck that! Fuck you! You think you can ease your own guilt by protecting me? Well, guess what, you are not doing me any favors. Tsubarov is going to kill J.J. if he doesn't get his money back! But you're standing there, all noble, denying me this loan because you don't want to _hurt_ me? How do you think I'd feel if they off J.J.?"

"I know you love him like he's your little brother and you feel you have to protect him. But it has gone too far. You've let this kid ruin your life. I'm not going to let you stick out your neck again for him, because you can't see it, but he's not worth it. He is not worth sacrificing your life for, Duo. He's selfish and childish and wasting-"

"I do love him like he is my baby brother," Interrupted Duo furiously. "And I promised A.J. I would protect him like he really was. Unlike you, I don't break my promises."

WuFei pointed a finger at him. "I don't either. Don't accuse me of breaking promises because I never promised you anything! I told you exactly what I could and could not offer you and you said you accepted that."

"Yeah, I did! I did. And then we dated and we fucked and we laughed our asses off and we moved in together! Excuse me for thinking – after two fucking years – that the 'could' and 'could-nots' had changed by then." He brought the cigarette to his lips with shaking fingers. "You play house with me and then you expect me not to be shell-shocked and furious when you come home one day and tell me it's over? Because of a conversation we had years ago about your 'emotional unavailability'? How is _Sally_ doing, by the way?"

The black eyes glistened with suppressed tears at the emotional outburst of his former lover. "She's doing well. She's three months pregnant."

A stab. Right in the heart. Duo chuckled bitterly. Emotionally unavailable _my ass_. "Congratulations."

WuFei nodded.

He ran a hand through his long bangs. "It's because of her, isn't it? You're 'just the bartender now' for her, right?"

He nodded once more.

Duo cleared his throat and dropped the cigarette butt into his drink. "Well, mister bartender, I'd like to talk to your 'associates' now, about that loan."

"I'm sorry, Duo," Replied the Asian man. "Even if I would allow you to ruin your life for this fuck-up kid, there is no point in talking to my associates. We can't swing that kind of money. This is a family business like any other; small time. Like you are small time. At best we could loan you a fraction of the amount you owe, but you know Tsubarov, he never goes for payments in installments. He'll just consider it interest and you would still owe him the full one twenty-five."

Duo bowed his head forward. He struggled with tears that threatened to spill. He had already left himself more vulnerable and exposed than he was comfortable with, he didn't want WuFei to see him cry as well.

"I'm sorry, Duo. I know how much you love him."

"Yeah," He croaked in reply. "It's a habit of mine. Loving the wrong people."

WuFei cast his glance sideways and clenched his jaw. He should his head then wondered blandly: "So what are you going to do about this mess with J.J.?"

Duo sighed. "I can't let them kill him. Maybe we could run?" He shook his head at his own suggestion. Even though they had nothing of importance tying them to this God forsaken city, they had nowhere else to go either and Tsubarov would love to have his men hunt them down. Playing hide and seek with the Russian gang for the rest of their lives was not something either of them had the finances for.

"I'll ask around. See if there is something going down that you could get in on. What is your deadline?"

"Labor Day." He cursed under his breath. "It's hopeless. Isn't it?"

WuFei pursed his lips. "I'll ask around," He repeated, rather than confirming Duo's worst fears.

"Don't bother," Duo said defeated. He knew there was no way there was a big enough job going on in the short amount of time that they had that they could still cash in on. "There is only one thing I can do. Find someone else to lend the money from."

"I really don't think that is a good idea."

Duo shrugged. "Tough luck. I'm all out of good ideas." He nodded at his glass in front of him, his cigarette butt floating in the liquid. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house."

"Thanks." He hoisted himself out of the barstool and dragged his feet towards the exit, feeling WuFei's pitiful gaze burning holes in his back.

He found his way back home feeling drained and discouraged. In the darkness of his studio apartment he noticed the red, blinking light of his answering machine. He lowered himself down onto the floor, leaning his back against the side of the bed and took the apparatus into his lap.

"You have… one… new message. Play… new message."

Following the beep J.J.'s breathy chuckle crackled through the line. "Hey, bro. I'm just calling… Just checking… Did you talk to the Motherfucking Asshole yet? Anyway, let me know about whatever payment plan you figured out with those guys. Seriously, I'm gonna help you pay it back. I swear to God. I really appreciate this, dude…You are going to Heaven for sure," Another chuckle. "I love you, man. Bye."

"To delete message… press-"

"Fuck!" He grabbed the machine, pulled the chord out of the socket and threw the thing at the wall, silencing the mechanical voice.

If only he could crawl in bed, hide and let fate take its course – it was about all he had energy for.

But despite the young man's rampant stupidity that always got them into trouble, he couldn't let him go, no matter how much he wished he could. J.J. was the only family he had. When Jared's actual brother, Andrew Jensen, the only friend Duo had ever known, died, Duo inherited the responsibilities of taking care of the kid, who was only ten years old at that point. When he promised Andrew to keep the rambunctious boy safe he didn't suspect he would grow to be such a self-destructive young man, but he could never blame him for his behavior, after losing his big brother the way he had.

He resented the dawning realization that he had disappointed Andrew – or A.J. as he was always called. He felt like a complete failure for letting his friend down like that. Little Jared had been A.J.'s priority – struggling to provide for his younger brother was what drove him to criminal endeavors to begin with – but he was kind enough to take the adolescent Duo Maxwell under his wing as well. He showed him how to be a survivor in a world where everybody wants to see you become a failure and victimize you for financial profit or personal gain. If it hadn't been for A.J.'s help, Duo was certain he would have ended up dead in a gutter long ago. He always wondered what A.J.'s fate would have been if he hadn't stepped in that day when he saw those gang bangers harassing a homeless kid with a messy braid. Perhaps if he had walked a different path he wouldn't have come across a dead end and J.J. wouldn't have been this messed-up kid. Perhaps a brighter future had been sacrificed for the sake of a scrawny street rat.

And look at that street rat now, Duo thought sorely. What a self-made-man! What an inspiring success-story! Early thirties going on early grave, with nothing to show for his life.

He couldn't fault J.J. for being a screw-up, that would be hypocritical. When life has dealt you a piss-poor hand, you have been given no choice but to cheat, it's as simple as that. That's what A.J. always said. J.J. was just trying to make it work, living by his biological big brother's philosophy that was passed on to him via his adoptive big brother. He was no different from Duo but for the fact that it didn't work out for him. They weren't different at all, Duo knew, although he'd be damned to admit that to J.J. The only difference between them was the difference between bad luck and worse luck.

He had to save him. He was just a kid! A.J. had entrusted him with his life.

He didn't return J.J.'s call and he couldn't face him either. If he rang the doorbell and Duo happened to be home – which he hardly ever was -, he pretended not to be. First, he had to line up a solution to the problem, he couldn't even stand the thought of having to look J.J. in the eyes and admit to him that he had failed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't easy finding someone who could loan him such a tidy sum. Most seedy people he managed to come into contact with actually worked for the widespread Russian gang. They couldn't loan him the money because he would be paying Tsubarov back with his own Goddamn money. Others were just punk-ass small-timers – not unlike Duo himself, in that regard – trolling the street corners. They were eager to do business with him until they laughed at him once he divulged how much he needed. Not even if he would loan small amounts from each and every one of them would the total sum be enough. Not even close.

As he made his way from one end of the city to the other, he rolled promising looking targets along the way, realizing more and more every day that he had no choice but to scrounge up as much money as possible that way, because the idea of a solve-all-problems-loan was falling through; falling like a ton of bricks in his gut. The pay-off was always disappointing - how could it not be, considering the pricetag hanging over his head? His desperation drove him to bold acts, which, in a two week span, almost got him caught three times. He never took risks like that, but he was left with no choice. He had vomited in an abandoned alley after escaping one of his marks who caught on he was being rolled. The enraged man chased him for four blocks until Duo finally managed to shake him, but not before the surprisingly spry older fellow had nearly caught him, grabbing the sleeve of the pickpocket's jacket. To get away Duo had to pull so hard the fabric ripped. In that moment he was confronted with a brief flash of himself in handcuffs, being escorted to jail. He wasn't too concerned about his own freedom anymore, but what was to become of J.J. without him to help him?

He came home and shook his ruined jacket off his shoulder – he could hardly afford to invest in a new one. They had looked at him oddly when he showed up at the bank looking all disheveled. Duo knelt on the floor and pulled up the floorboard under which his secret emergency stash was hidden. He counted the money and added it to the full amount he had withdrawn from the bank, which had been less than his initial estimate. It all added up to fifteen thousand dollars – if he rounded up generously. He knew he could get about thirty thousand total from the loan sharks he had talked to and perhaps he could convince WuFei to let him do business with his 'associates' for about the same amount.

He sat back with a defeated sigh. Even in the best case scenario he would still be short something in the vicinity of fifty thousand dollars, with only three weeks – no, less than three weeks – left to bridge the gap. Not enough time. If he knew how to earn that amount of money in three weeks' time both his and J.J.'s life would have looked very different and they wouldn't be in this mess.

He flinched severely at an unexpected knock on his apartment door.

"Bro, it's me. Let me in." Sounded J.J.'s muffled voice. "Your neighbor let me up," He explained. "She's hot bro, why didn't you ever introduce us?" He chuckled, then rifled his fist on the locked door again. "Come on, man, I know you're in there."

With a groan he pushed himself up from the floor, not bothering to hide the money. Normally he would worry about J.J. stealing some cash, but that wasn't much of a concern now, he intended to spend every penny to keep the young man alive anyway. He unlocked the door and stepped aside to let the visitor in.

"Seriously bro, why didn't you tell me your neighbor is so fucking hot?"

Duo shook his head. "She's a prostitute."

J.J. shrugged. "So?"

"She's a tranny prostitute."

His face paled, which would have been comical if their predicament had been different. "Yikes. He did a good job though, seriously couldn't tell."

With a roll of his eyes Duo corrected: "You shouldn't refer to her as 'he'." He frowned. "And what the fuck do you mean you couldn't tell? She has an Adam's apple the size of a baseball."

"Didn't notice," J.J. brushed off casually and installed himself on the couch. "So you've been hiding from me…" He stated.

"I needed some time. Without you nagging and yapping in my ear all the Goddamn time."

"Right. And how has that been working out for you?"

Duo turned his back to him, occupying himself by getting a drink. "Fine. I have everything under control."

"Really?"

"Yeah. WuFei is going to get me that loan and then…" He sighed. "Everything will be fine."

"Huh… That's not what he said."

The older man spun around. "What? Who?"

"The 'Motherfucking Asshole' – or I guess it's just 'WuFei' now?"

"It's more succinct," He replied dryly.

"Well, anyway, he told me that his guys weren't going to give you the loan." He grinned, as if the consequences of that stated fact weren't incredibly grave, just bemused at having caught his brother in a lie.

"Yeah? What else did he say to you?"

"That I'm ruining your life," He quipped.

Duo snorted and took he drink. "He always way terribly observant," He deadpanned. He approached the couch and lowered himself down onto the cushions with a sigh. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't make eye-contact as he said: "I'm sorry J.J., I tried everything. I don't know what to do."

"Don't give up now!" J.J. playfully punched him in the stomach, blissfully ignorant of the punishment that hung over both their heads. "WuFei told me he had been asking around if anyone was pulling a job we could get in on."

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to look at his little brother in surprise. "He found something?"

"Nope."

Duo grunted. "Than what the fuck are you so upbeat about?" He shook his head and looked away. "Never mind. You're fucking high again."

"I am high, but that's not why I am so 'upbeat'. Well, not only why." He adjusted in his seat, turning his body to face Duo. " _I_ found us a job."

Duo chuckled grimly. "This will be good."

"WuFei came looking for me because apparently you hadn't been answering your phone or returning his calls-"

"I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my answering machine."

J.J. continued unfazed: "He had been asking around, but he couldn't find anything short notice. But it was important to him to let you know that he tried… oh and to let you know I'm fucking up your life, of course."

"Of course."

"But I was thinking to myself: Of course he can't fucking find any jobs! He's out of the game, he doesn't know what is going on anymore! And people don't trust him anymore now that he is practically a reformed man. So I hit the clubs -"

"It's where you do your best work." Was the sarcastic interjection.

"Will you stop interrupting me?" J.J. insisted before continuing: "So I hit the clubs, started talking to some guys and… well… I found something. Something big."

Duo rubbed his tired eyes. "Does it seem too good to be true?"

"Yeah, it's like a fucking miracle!"

"Then it _is_ too good to be true."

J.J. jumped up from the couch and exclaimed angrily: "Why do you always have to be so Goddamn cynical and condescending! I'm not a kid anymore!"

Mood swings. Great, thought Duo. "If you're not a kid anymore, than you take the fucking job and pay off that debt your-fucking-self!"

"I can't!" He plopped back down on the couch with an exasperated sigh. "They need someone like you!"

"Someone like me?" He mirrored skeptically.

"A conman. I don't know. That mind-voodoo thing you do; knowing what people are thinking and what they want. That's what the job still needs. And this guy said that if I could find him someone like that, someone who doesn't have a criminal record, than I could join the team as well. And you've got to be one of the only guys I know that has never been arrested, much less convicted of anything."

Duo sighed and buried his face in his hand. "I don't do big jobs," He mumbled routinely. He had always avoided the risk, to the point where he had started to doubt if he could even pull it off.

"Not even when my life is at stake?" J.J. challenged.

The long-haired man looked up, bit his lip and then inquired reluctantly, resigning to his fate: "So what's the job?"

J.J.'s face formed a relieved smile. He reached into his pocket and produced a business card with a just a name and a cellphone number on it. He held it out to his big brother and announced excitedly: "You should talk to this guy."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Three**

During a cryptic phone call Duo was given directions to an apartment complex at the edge of Corbeau Park. This was an odd meeting location for criminals. In Corbeau Park home values grotesquely exceeded the million dollar mark. It was where the people, whose names were on the downtown skyscrapers, called home – well, one of their homes, that was the thing with the rich, everything there was a shortage of in the world, they had in excess. Duo remembered the neighborhood to be small, a number of extravagant homes built around the original, sprawling estate whose first, eighteenth-century owner, a duke from France, lend the area his name. But in a world where one man's loss was another man's gain, the neighborhood bloomed as the recession hit. For every skyscraper that was erected downtown – because New York had gotten too expensive -, a monstrous, futuristic architectural marvel or hideous imitation of an old English manor was built in Corbeau Park. Preposterously large homes on expansive plots, circled by high walls.

Duo hadn't been in the area since he was a wild kid and a group of them had boldly decided to pester private security guards. The exorbitance of the rich made him sick. Worse still was how superciliously they flaunted all they had in front of the have-nots. Corbeau Park was, as Duo discovered, a mere twenty-five minute drive – with overpriced cab-fare – removed from his own neighborhood, where families spent winters in the freezing cold because they couldn't pay their bills and the landlord had their heat and electricity switched off and where the elderly died during heat waves because regular power outages rendered the air-conditioning useless.

The brand new apartment building the cabbie drove him and J.J. to was located just outside the rich neighborhood, but proudly overlooking it. The braided man could very well imagine the prices of those apartments facing Corbeau Park were criminally large. Nowadays, people have to pay extra just to see how 'the other half' lives. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to wake up every morning and open their curtain to that view, never mind pay top dollar to feed that festering inferiority complex.

He looked up at the white building with large windows and small balconies.

J.J. whistled appreciatively. "Wouldn't mind shacking up in here," He remarked.

Duo rolled his eyes at him and headed for the entry. They had been supplied the code for the door so they wouldn't have to wait to be buzzed in.

"You think he lives here?" The younger one wondered as they waited for the elevator to descend to the ground floor.

"I don't know, J.J., I've never met the guy, remember?" Duo replied impatiently, "He's _your_ contact." And that was exactly why he had such a bad feeling about this meeting; J.J. was a horrible judge of character. They stepped into the elevator.

After five floors J.J. stated: "He seemed trustworthy."

His older brother shook his head. "Don't do that. Don't make such a stupid mistake."

"What mistake?"

"Thinking that those kind of guys can be trusted. They are criminals, J.J."

He frowned. "So are we."

"And that is why no one should trust us either."

J.J. scoffed because he only knew Duo as the responsible, honest substitute big brother.

The elevator stopped and opened its doors. They followed the hallway to the apartment they had been invited to. The entire floor still appeared to be under construction. Their footfalls on the concrete echoed against the bare walls.

Duo stared at the door, burdened by their predicament. With only two weeks left until Labor Day walking away was not an option, but if they knocked on that door they had no idea what kind of new, dangerous situation they could be getting themselves into.

J.J., blissfully ignorant of his brother's inner turmoil, scowled at his inaction and rifled his fist on the door, producing a sharp, hollow sound in the silence.

They were left to wait longer than Duo liked. What was going on on the other side of that door? It was making him nervous.

The black haired younger man raised his hand, about to pound on the door again, when it opened. The two of them stared, helplessly perplexed, at the petite Latina who opened the door.

"Bienvenidos!" She exclaimed and leaned forward to give them both two kisses on the cheeks.

Duo tensed as he felt her hand travel along his body, subtly frisking him.

J.J. yelped at her touch, but then gave her a wink.

She stepped aside and held the door open for them. "Come on in, boys."

Tentatively he made his first step into the apartment. The floors were concrete, the walls were white, there was nothing there but a desk and a couple of chairs by the floor to ceiling window overlooking Corbeau Park. Seated at the white desk was a man dressed in all black. Duo stalked over to him, followed by J.J. He adopted a casual stance, taking his time examining his surroundings and scrutinizing the man before commenting dryly: "I love what you've done with the place."

The man smirked. "The view is all that counts." He had a slight lisp.

J.J. leaned over the desk to reach out his hand. "What's up, man?"

He amused him by shaking the hand offered to him.

Duo produced the mysterious card J.J. had given him a few days ago and held it up with a quirked eyebrow. "So, 'Mister Smith', is that your real name?"

He shrugged. "Nope."

"Alright." He waited for the man to provide them with information, but he remained quiet, staring at them, sizing them up. "So… J.J. didn't tell me anything about the job-"

"That is because I didn't tell J.J. anything."

The person in question nonchalantly plopped down in one of the chairs.

"So what's the job?"

"I'll tell you when you're hired."

"What the fuck is this? Some kind of joke? We don't have time for this." His angry voice carried in the empty space.

"This is the job interview," Replied 'Mister Smith' coolly. He straightened up in his seat, folding his hands on the surface of the desk. "You see, this is _the one_ for me. This is the last one. This job is possible thanks to years of laying down groundwork; networking. I'm not going to take any risks. I need to know if you are the right man for the job." He gestured at the chair across from him, next to where J.J. was lounging, making eyes at the attractive woman who loitered in the corner. "Take a seat."

While glaring at Smith he accepted the invitation and sat down, stoically folding his arms in front of his chest.

"J.J. told me you are pretty much a mind reader."

"If a mind reader is your idea of the 'right man for the job', you are screwed. There is no such thing," Duo shot back flatly.

"Then what does qualify you?"

Duo uncrossed his arms and sat back. "You want to see the party trick?"

"I do."

He shot a look at J.J., then focused his attention on Smith again. He studied his features, his body language and his clothes. He went over the brief conversation they had in person and over the phone as they arranged the meeting. Every little detail was important, everything was usable information. He made a mental note of the lisp, the way the man moved his lips as he talked, the words he had used, the vague scar on his neck, his approximate age, his hairstyle, the suit he had put on, the shoes he had combined it with, the way he sat with his back straight and his hands entwined, the two thumbs fiddling idly.

Smith quirked his eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"

"You might not like everything I'm about to say," The braided man warned.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

Duo narrowed his eyes at him, giving him one final once-over before he started matter-of-factly: "You have fake teeth. The lisp and what you do with your lips every time you finish a sentence gives it away. It is highly uncommon in this day and age for a man of your age to have dentures. Your teeth must have been seriously messed up. You did drugs, extensively. I'm guessing Meth, Meth really fucks up the mouth."

Said mouth formed into a grimace.

Recognizing his interpretation was correct, he continued mercilessly: "The fact I was able to tell you have dentures means you are not fully used to them yet. They're new. You probably quit your drug-habit recently. If you were still on drugs you wouldn't have given a fuck about your teeth. You wouldn't have cared enough to invest money in the state and appearance of your mouth. But nowadays appearances are important to you. I can tell because that is a nice suit and you wear it proudly. You probably bought it to make you feel powerful; new teeth and a new suit makes a new man, one that aims to impress those around him." He paused, noting the discomfort in his victim's eyes. "Too bad that when you bought that nice suit – recently - you didn't take into account what happens to most reformed drug-addicts: weight gain. The suit is brand new but it already fits your poorly. Your shoes, on the other hand, are old, well-worn and cheap, everything the suit is not. You have no eye for detail, your approach is crude and uninventive."

Smith was obviously offended, shifting in his seat, pursing his lips. He had trouble maintaining eye-contact because that only made him feel all the more exposed. Duo's guesses were never anything more than guesses until the person started confirming their validity with the way they reacted to his observations. That was exactly what mister Smith was doing, as hard as he tried to appear unaffected by the analysis.

Spurred on by the subconsciously affirmative feedback Duo dissected the man further, not able to deny that he liked being able to make him squirm. "You had a tattoo on your neck that you had removed with what looks like sub-par laser therapy." He nodded at the scar and then looked up at his short hair. "You were probably bald until recently, I think you've decided to let your hair grow out to cover more tattoos on your head. Tattoos that are probably gang related, part of a past that you have renounced. Given your overall 'reinvention', getting cleaned up, leaving the gang-life behind you, I'd say you were in prison until not too long again and since you got out you decided to make these changes in your life." He furrowed his brows in contemplation and estimated: "Judging by the length of your hair, I'd say you got out two months ago. You didn't start growing out your hair, hiding your tattoos until you were out of jail, because gang-affiliations are the only protection you have in the pen."

The subject moved his hands off the desk and into his lap as he attempted to assume a more relaxed position, trying to hide the tension in his body, but he was practically quivering and his hands had left a wet mark on the desk; indicating a nervous sweat.

"But you don't look or act like you are grateful for this second chance, I think you have a chip on your shoulder. You feel you have a lot to prove. Probably to your family – you think you are going to fool anyone wearing what is obviously a wedding ring on the pinky of your left hand? The problem with proving that you are a new, better man, is that all you know is how to be a criminal. You probably tried a legit job, for a little while, but you didn't like starting at the bottom and working your way up. You feel like you deserve to instantly be successful and be treated with respect. So you've come back to the only world where your name has some meaning, telling yourself and others around you that it is the last one. When probably you have said this – promised this - many times before."

J.J. started laughing, at that point even his dimwit little brother could see the discomfort on Smith's sweaty face.

Recognizing the braided man was done picking him apart, Smith took his time to regain his composure. He tried to be inconspicuous when he loosened his tie. He was probably feeling really warm by then. "So," He cleared his throat when he realized his voice had a different pitch to it, "That's it?"

"That's it. That is the party trick."

"Well, it's… somewhat impressive. But, how does it work? How do you _know_?" He loosened his tie further and impishly claimed: "Not that you got everything right about me, but you've managed to spark my interest."

"The thing is, I don't know," Duo answered candidly. "All I do is pick up on cues; mannerisms, words, the details of your clothing. I make inferences about you based on these little things. I don't know if I am correct, not until you start proving me right by the way you are reacting. But until I get that subconscious confirmation from you, I have to run with it. My assumptions could be wrong, but I have to risk it to get anywhere. If I am wrong, your body language will inform me as much and I will adjust my strategy accordingly. If I am right, you start to trust me, you start to identify with me, because normally I would use the information I get to present myself as a copy of you. And once you start to trust me, you give me more and more information that I can use to make myself even more appealing to you because I can feed everything back to you. 'I'm a recovering drug addict too', 'I also just got out of prison', 'I get you man, I, too, want to _be somebody_ '."

"And what does this get you?" Smith asked.

"Long term? The more we have in common, the more you will gravitate towards me and once you think I'm your best friend – the only person in the world who understands you – you won't hesitate to lend me cash, provide an alibi, or tell me where you've hid the spare key of your apartment. Short term; you won't think twice if I briefly lay my hand on you in a friendly manner, you are not alarmed, you don't suspect that in that brief moment I have just picked your pocket."

Mister Smith shared a look with his female associate.

"So, tell me what the job is," Duo demanded after the elaborate show-and-tell.

"I haven't hired you yet," Retorted Smith coyly.

The tall man scoffed. "Let's cut the crap, _mister Smith_. You may think that you can dangle this in front of us because we are desperate, but truth of the matter is you need me as much as we need you. We need a job, right now, and you are not going to find anyone – without a criminal record – who is better suited than I am." He had no idea if his bold, arrogant assertion was correct, but as he said, they were desperate, they could not afford letting this opportunity slip out of their hands.

Smith nodded and smirked. "Alright," He consented, "You're in." He got up from his seat and extended his hand across the table.

Duo cautiously shook his hand. "So are you going to tell us your name?"

"You can call me Neil."

"Neil what?"

"Neil Smith," He replied slyly, shaking J.J.'s hand as well.

"Okay, so I guess we're still not on a real-name-basis." Duo walked over to the woman to introduce himself, shaking her hand.

"Angelica." With a mischievous grin she added: " _Smith_."

"Of course you are." He turned to Neil. "So this is it? Just the four of us?"

"It's as much as we need."

The group gathered around the desk and Duo looked at Neil expectantly, requiring more information about what he and J.J. had just gotten themselves into. Neil seemed to enjoy the suspense and waited for him to ask him again:

"So what's the job?" There was no veiling his impatience.

Neil leaned forward and picked up a suitcase that had been hidden from view behind the desk. He placed it on the surface of the desk and popped open the clasps.

Duo was half expecting the man to pull out a gun, but instead he produced a far more innocent object; a magazine. Neil unceremoniously threw it on the desk. "This is the job," He announced.

With furrowed brows Duo stepped forward and he reached for the magazine, a recent issue of Forbes. On the cover was the picture of a handsome man in a dark blue, tailored suit, positioned in a no-nonsense stance of feet at shoulder's width and arms crossed in front of his chest in front of a glossy, golden background. Superimposed on him in bold lettering was the text: "Next Generation Billionaires", the small caption below explained the title: "Billionaires are not just old men or Saudi princes anymore. In this issue: Young Inventors Change The Definition Of Success." Duo deadpanned: "So what? We're going to rob Forbes Magazine?"

"Seriously?"

"Shut up, J.J."

"No," Replied Neil coolly, "We are going to rob _him_."

Duo looked down at 'him', the stern man on the cover of the magazine, whose cold blue eyes made him uncomfortable as they seemed to stare right through him. "And who the fuck is this guy?" His name was on the cover, but that was not what he was asking about.

Neil chuckled. "Have you been living under a rock?"

"Ha, I wish, that would probably be better than living on Millhouse Street," He jested, referring to his leaky hole-in-the-wall apartment in the run-down area.

"It's Heero Yuy, of Y-Enterprises. You know? _Y-Enterprises_? One of the first big skyscrapers that got built downtown and still the motherfucking biggest of them all?"

"Yeah, I seem to remember the cold shadow that monstrous thing cast on the lot of us."

Neil snatched the magazine from Duo's weak grip and poked his finger at the stoic man on the cover. "This guy invents a fucking a program when he's still a teenager and by the time he is in his early twenties he has created the fastest growing software and hardware company in the United States on the foundation of that one program, that every other business in the world now can't live without. Present day Y-Enterprises is an expansive conglomerate that has monopolized the electronics market and branched into basically every other field where there is money to be made; shipyards, hotels, a fucking airline! Versions of the same goddamn building we see downtown dominate the skylines of cities around the fucking world."

"So what is your genius plan? Break into a corporate building?" The hope Duo had placed on the project was dwindling fast.

Neil sighed. "Look out the window, Duo. What do you see?"

The tall man shrugged disinterestedly. "Corbeau Park." He raised an eyebrow. "He lives here?"

The other nodded excitedly. "Moved here five years ago, around the same time he had his skyscraper built. Care to venture a guess which house is his?"

Duo stared out the window. Most elaborate homes were newly built. The exponential growth really didn't start until a few years ago, parallel to the development downtown. The Y-tower was one of the first notable skyscrapers to be built, tempting other national and international business to try their luck in this city. Since he was one of the pioneers, he had to reside in one of the old, original properties. But Duo didn't like playing along with Neil, he knew he would just tell him anyway, without having to go through the ordeal of guessing, the man could barely contain his excitement.

Neil moved to the window and made theatrical gestures as he disclosed: "Right smack in the middle, in the original estate that all the other residences are built around. The center of this universe for the rich, if you will."

"The Corbeau estate."

"Actually, it's the Yuy estate now."

"Okay, so; on the cover of Forbes, skyscrapers around the world, lives in a freaking palace… obviously the guy has more money than the collective income of this entire city, but what does that mean for us?"

"It means he is going to have to share some of that fortune with us," Remarked Neil shrewdly. "Like I said, this job is the result of years of networking, making friends in all the right places. When mister Yuy bought the estate six years ago and started to renovate it to his specifications, an old friend of mine who works at 'Financial Security' kindly gave me a call to let me know that mister Yuy was having a safe installed." He nodded at Angelica.

"And not just any safe," The woman informed, "A KDF."

"That's supposed to mean anything to me?" Duo quipped.

"Kensington Double Fortified. It is a top of the line, latest model, dual lock, bio-guarded safe. It is practically impossible to get into."

"That doesn't sound encouraging."

Angelica's lips curved into a smug smile. "Key word being 'practically'. I can crack her."

"Angelica is our safe expert. She's the best," Explained Neil.

"I _am_ the best, don't look so surprised. Safes are sensitive, fickle things. One wrong move and they lock that shit up. Much like a woman. Only women have the understanding and patience it takes to handle a complicated safe like that one. And I am the best woman for the job."

Neil continued his story: "So when my friend informed me of the KDF, I saw a great opportunity. You don't get a KDF just to fireproof some documents or safeguard family heirlooms. This safe means mister Yuy likes having a lot of money within reach. I asked myself: How much money? I realized I had better ask this question to another friend of mine, someone who owed me a favor. She had cleaned up her act and went legit. She works at the local branch of the American Bank. The bank where mister Yuy makes a withdrawal of previously unknown amount every three months, escorted back to his fortress by armed guards. Now, she may have gone legit, but she still had her way with men – if you know what I mean -, she got her manager to confide in her how much money mister Yuy takes home with him every time." He paused for dramatic effect.

"Well?" J.J. demanded curiously.

"Yuy withdrawals ten million dollars' worth of 'walking-around-money', every time." Was the roguish reply.

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" Exclaimed the black haired man, he turned to face his brother who was frozen. He grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Holy shit! Bro! Aren't you happy?"

"Ten… million?" Duo stammered.

"Like any rich man mister Yuy enjoys a lavish lifestyle, including the regular cash purchases of valuable artworks. He's quite the collector." Neil chuckled at Duo's dumbfounded expression. "If we do this shortly after he has made a withdrawal, we will be getting at least two-and-a-half million out of it per person. Everyone gets an equal share. I'm sure J.J. can make himself useful enough to earn a fair cut."

"Hold on, 'at least'?" J.J. thought to ask.

"I doubt he spends all of it every time. On top of the ten million there is probably some left-over from previous times."

Duo started shaking his head, drawing the attention of the others to him. "This is crazy," He mumbled. "This is way out of our league. That kind of guy, that kind of house, that kind of money… this isn't just a simple smash-and-grab."

"It isn't," Neil agreed. "It's going to take time and planning and your people skills."

"Can't we just hit them on the road when he's taking the money home?" Interjected J.J.

Neil frowned at him. "Did you not hear me use the words 'armed guards'?"

"We're going to be hard-pressed to find a use for my little brother," Duo deadpanned, then inquired seriously: "What would be my role in this?"

"The thing is, my friend working for 'Financial Security' is just a truck driver. The exact details of the installation are classified, only a few people have the information and these people can't be bribed – I've tried this before on another job. So the problem is, we know a KDF was delivered and installed somewhere in the Yuy estate… we don't know the exact location. They always hide those things in walls. The odds of us finding it without help are slim to none, especially given the time constraint; we have to be in and out in as little time as possible. We need you to find the safe so we can plan the heist beforehand."

"And how exactly do you propose I do that?"

"By working your magic on… How did you put it? 'Your new best friend'." He held up the magazine.

Duo met the intimidating stare of cobalt blue eyes that had been captured by the photographer. Even from that single picture Duo could tell the man wasn't the easy-going type. He chuckled bitterly. "It's not going to work. Probably not even when I had all the time in the world to befriend this guy, but especially not in the next two weeks."

"Two weeks?" The other man questioned.

"Wasn't that the time-frame for this job?" Duo could tell his little brother was shrinking beside him.

"No," Neil drawled. "Yuy's next visit to the bank isn't for another month and we figured even that would be too soon to get everything ready, so we are aiming for late December, early January, depending on the precise date he goes to get the cash."

Duo cocked his head to glare at his little brother. "It seems my idiot baby brother has neglected to tell you that we have a strict deadline and it's Labor day."

J.J. sheepishly scratched the back of his head and oafishly suggested: "Can't we just rob him in the next two weeks? I'm sure there will be plenty in the safe."

"There won't be ten million dollars in it," Neil shot back, his attitude shifted, he had been excited and eager before, but he was quickly getting angry. "And we don't even know where the fucking safe is," He seethed.

Duo swallowed, recognizing the kind of trouble they were in. "Look, just calm down-"

"Calm down?" The man spat, the viciousness of his voice caused the other three to flinch. "I just told you my entire plan and now you are telling me you can't help me? That puts me in a very difficult position, you see? Because I can't trust you not to tell some other scumbag about my plan and then I am going to have to worry about competition."

"Just relax," Duo tried to placate. "I'm an excellent secret-keeper and J.J. doesn't even have the time to spill your secret, he's going to be dead in two weeks."

"Hey!" Protested the blockheaded drug-user.

"Dead?"

Duo nodded. "You see, we didn't impose this deadline on ourselves. He owes someone money. A bad someone. The worst. We were looking to pay off his debt. Trust us, we don't want to get into more trouble than we already are. We won't tell anybody about your plan."

Neil narrowed his eyes at J.J. "You owe Tsubarov money?"

By stating 'the worst', Duo had clearly said too much. Criminals didn't like Tsubarov knowing about their operations, because the crime lord always demanded a substantial cut of the profits. By letting Neil know they were affiliated with Tsubarov would probably get them into more trouble. Wisely so, most people would do anything to keep Tsubarov out of their business, including shooting two idiots who might tell the entitled lord of this profitable plan.

However, the tense moment ended when Neil's face split into a sudden, broad smile. "Okay. I think we can work with that."

Confused by the abrupt change for the better in his demeanor and the atmosphere between them, he blurted dumbly: "What?" He could tell the smile was one of genuine relief, but he didn't understand why. Knowing of their connection to Tsubarov should have made him livid and distrusting, instead the opposite appeared to be the case.

Then Neil wondered suspiciously: "Are you playing tricks on me, Duo? Are you trying to get me to trust you by presenting yourself as a copy of me?"

He shook his head overzealously. "No."

"You better not be."

Duo looked around himself unsurely. "What just happened?" Clearly Neil's questions indicated that he was involved with Tsubarov as well, somehow, but he couldn't figure out how that positively affected their arrangement.

"This job is my audition, or rather: my job interview, if you will," He declared proudly.

"For what?"

"To rise in the ranks."

J.J. mumbled: "I told you it doesn't matter to Tsubarov if someone isn't Russian."

"Shut up, J.J.," Hissed his older brother. Neil – whose real name probably wasn't Neil – likely _was_ Russian. Non-Russians are only used as foot soldiers by Tsubarov, they were more expendable because they weren't his people. For someone to be allowed to rise in the ranks of the criminal organization likely meant they were at least from the same motherland as the proud drug lord. "If this is an audition, why all the crap about this being 'the last one'?"

"If I do this right, it would be my last work in the field. I'd be set for life, welcomed into the inner-circle. You have any idea what kind of clout masterminding this job is going to get me? And what is it going to add to Tsubarov's reputation? Everyone on the street is going to know that the gang outsmarted this 'genius' billionaire. Then no one will argue Tsubarov runs this city."

"He's going to make you general," Duo concluded skeptically. Generals were like the board of trusted advisors to Tsubarov's organization. They never got their hands dirty, the 'company' paid all their expenses; gave them everything they wanted – Hell, rumor was one of them actually lived in Corbeau Park. They were in charge of organizing and directing operations; robberies, executions, money laundering and drug transportation. Tsubarov relied on their sworn loyalty to him, to ensure him of this lasting loyalty Duo had heard on the streets that, surprisingly, the generals were allowed the keep the profits they made during the initiation, in addition to being kept men for the rest of their lives. Tsubarov was a smart guy, he knew reigning with fear alone didn't work, not that high up the food-chain. He couldn't risk them rallying men behind them and rebelling, after all. He knew he attracted more bees with honey than with vinegar.

"Forbes magazine might revere the new generation," Said Neil, "But in this world – the _real_ world – seniority matters. I know every scumbag worth knowing in this city, I have informants in all walks of life. When I got rolled on possession and did seven, Tsubarov realized how valuable my connections were. You were right, when I got out, I did try to go legit, but then Tsubarov made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Duo could hardly believe anybody used that phrase outside of the Godfather franchise.

"You are pivotal to the success of this mission. I haven't met anyone before you who has managed to impress me, let alone someone with a clean record, which is important because in order to get close to Yuy, you have to come up clean when they screen you and that can't be faked, his security detail is very thorough," Continued the would-be-general. "We will go talk to Tsubarov. If you make him a good offer, he'll give you the necessary extension on your deadline." He handed him the magazine. "You should probably start reading up on our target."

Duo held the magazine pressed against his chest because he realized his hand had been trembling and holding the magazine loosely betrayed that. He let out a deep, shaky breath.

"I'll call you. We'll arrange a time to go see the boss." Neil patted J.J. on the back. "You are a lucky kid." He started towards the door.

Angelica lingered, noticing Duo's anxiety. "Are you okay?" She inquired without malicious intent.

Duo nodded.

"So how did a pretty girl like you get involved?" Asked J.J. with a flirtatious tone.

"I'm just the hired help. No audition for me, just a regular day at the office," She replied, her exotic, purring accent made J.J. weak in the knees and soft in the head. "I guess I'll see you boys around." She nodded at the magazine. "Good luck." She turned around and walked out the door, following Neil down the hallway.

J.J. waited until he heard the elevator doors open and close before he shouted ecstatically and jumped up and down. He threw himself against his older brother and clamped his arms around him. Duo could feel J.J.'s heart thundering in his chest with excitement, while his own heart was racing for an entirely different reason. The situation still had him worried and fearful. He had been raised to learn to never a trust a good thing. His younger brother released him from his grip and looked up at him with sparkling eyes – for once his eyes were clear, not clouded by extensive drug-use. "You were amazing! 'Let's cut the crap, you need us as much as we need you'. Haha! Awesome!" He took a deep breath. Only once he had calmed down a little did he realize his older brother didn't share in his enthusiasm. "What's the matter, bro? This is like the best thing that has ever happened to us! We're going to pay back Tsubarov, get rich ourselves doing it _and_ impress the newest general."

"To do all that," Duo started soberingly, "We first have to convince Tsubarov that we are indeed pivotal to this operation. That's easier said than done. But that's not even the most challenging part. Because then the real work starts." He looked down at the cover of the magazine with worried eyes. "I'm going to have to, _somehow_ , make this entitled snob my best friend. Make him trust me enough to tell me where he hides his money." It was going to be difficult to achieve this, complicated further by his own innate resentment for those kind of people; the rich guys who look down their noses at others, at people far better than Duo. It was going to be trying to put aside his personal issues. He had no idea if he could pull it off. He had never been involved in anything nearly as big as this.

"You're always such a downer," Muttered the ignorant younger man. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

"Hold on a second," Duo said and he walked up to the window. In the distance, in the center of the neighborhood that had been built around it, he could see the vast grounds of the Corbeau estate – correction: Yuy estate – with the mammoth house sitting heavily in the middle of it. A long driveway flanked by centuries-old trees led from the front gate to the front of the immense stone manor that enveloped an inner courtyard and stretched out on either side in the back. The land's perimeter was marked by a brick wall. He knew there would be guards and security systems and camera's and if anything the owner would be even more unapproachable than his house.

"Let's go man, I need to piss."

"Fine." They left the apartment building together but Duo rejected the offer to go get a drink, unlike his little brother he wasn't in a celebratory mood and he would be even less so if he had to watch J.J. get drunk and stoned right in front of him.

Instead he went home and took two aspirin to deal with the headache that had been caused by all that tension and suspense. He sat down on his couch, dumping the magazine on the coffee-table and bent forward to roll up his pants leg. He carefully peeled the duct tape he had used to strap a knife to his lower leg off his skin, wincing as some hairs got pulled out. He wasn't even really sure why he had bothered to bring the knife, in all likelihood Neil had been armed, but that morning he felt like he had to take something with him to not feel like a total fool going to a clandestine meeting without any form of self-protection. Even in the rough neighborhood that had been his home since forever, he had always decided against getting a gun. Guns scared him, he figured probably just as much if he was holding one as looking at the business end of one.

He lit a cigarette and leaned back trying to enjoy the effect of the nicotine filling his lungs. He waited for it to calm him. When he was left with little more than a butt he reached out with a groan and pulled last month's issue of Forbes into his lap.

He stared begrudgingly at the image of the man. He looked to be about his age – _his age_ -, early thirties, and already he had achieved more than most people could only dream of, let alone attain that level of success. With the cigarette pinched between his lips his hands were free to rifle through the pages in search of the article about the exceptional billionaire. With a disgruntled frown he started to read. The article painted a picture of a brilliant inventor and a cunning but just businessman. There was little modesty evident in the direct quotes from the man as the interviewer had asked him to reiterate his successes. Duo had heard, marveled at and questioned rags-to-riches stories, but Yuy's tale was one of rich-to-riches; he didn't come from humble beginnings, he grew up comfortably in the upper class of society. A privileged start to life. His father was owner and CEO of a respectable state-wide software company. Senior lacked the ingenuity of his son but made up for it with corporate cunning, delegating the development of the software to talented employees. The man managed to make a name for himself and he put it proudly on the side of his office building –dwarfed by the ones his son had erected since – namely Kouta Yuy Software Solutions. He had never heard of it, as he continued reading the dull article he discovered why. Yuy junior, doubly privileged by his lineage – being born into a wealthy family and having the right mix of genes that made him a genius by any standard - took interest in his father's work and developed the program Neil had mentioned earlier. A deceptively simple administrative program. His father, not able to recognize the 'understated genius' of it, told him to stop playing around and focus on his studies – at business school, because he was poised to take over his father's company someday. Fueled by what Duo figured to be years of pent up daddy-issues the mere teenager used the program to start his own software company, selling it to local businesses who were greatly aided by its implementation.

As Yuy grew into his early twenties, further developing his company and more revolutionary software, his company, presumptuously called 'Y-enterprises', became the main competition to his father's company. At that point the two of them were no longer on speaking terms, obviously. To make a long story short, Y-enterprises won more and more ground and Kouta Yuy Software Solutions went out of business. In the near decade since the exponential growth of Y-enterprises only continued, gaining more and more momentum, with the company also delving its roots into the hardware market. When the company landed a military contract, developing high-tech software to improve the functioning of drones – significantly increasing accuracy, decreasing collateral damage and civilian victims – there was no stopping the company from going international, overtaking the monopoly on the electronics market all over the world, marking its territory with imposing shrines of glass and steel masked as offices.

A complete opposite to his father, Yuy remained focused on developing new software, while delegating the administrative work to his board. But of course as owner and CEO, he had the final say in everything, including the frequent relocation of the headquarters. The latest move being from Manhattan to this godforsaken city, renaming the Manhattan building as one of the many satellite locations. The interviewer didn't ask why and Yuy didn't volunteer the information, but Duo would bet his bottom-dollar it had something to do with the Corbeau estate that he must have had his eye on as the ultimate status symbol. Building a new headquarters in the same city was just a way to keep work close to home; keep the commute short.

The article went more in depth regarding his corporate decision-making, but Duo couldn't be bothered to struggle his way through the interviewer kissing this man's ass any more. He threw the magazine back onto the table and twisted his body to lie down on the couch. He stared up at the ceiling, wheels turning in his mind.

"Daddy-issues…" He stated in the empty room with a shrug. "I can work with that…" It wouldn't be enough, he would need to do more homework. He had to figure out an angle to approach this guy. For the time being he assumed Tsubarov was going to give him and J.J. this chance, he couldn't consider the alternative, all that would achieve was a nauseous feeling in his gut. He didn't go to the drug lord on his own accord again, he didn't want to press his luck. He would wait for Neil to make the arrangements. They would make a stronger case if they showed up together anyway.

He spent the next two days at the library, using the public computers to find out more about his 'new best friend'. Unfortunately the man was as unapproachable as he feared he would be, he only agreed to interviews of a professional nature, he shared nothing personal. The accompanying photo's weren't particularly informative either, his face was impassive in every single one of them, his gaze coldly meeting Duo's as the studied the man. It was almost like Yuy was challenging him, cockily confident that his exterior was impervious to Duo's prying eyes.

He scrolled through pages upon pages of local gossip sites – with some snapshots of him at galleries, looking at and purchasing paintings – and online business magazines, heavily resting his chin on his hand. His curiosity was only marginally piqued when a casual search of Heero Yuy's name along with the word "Billionaire" yielded a top search result that read: "The World's Top Billionaires". A page opened with familiar names like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos as well as unknown European and Arabic names. One name in particular stood out to Duo, as it was one of the names that was preceded by a gold exclamation mark that – according to a quick glance at the notes at the bottom of the page – indicated an Honorable Mention; a notable entry on the list. Between the fifty-, sixty-, seventy- and eighty-year-olds was thirty-two year old – the same age as Duo, _goddammit_ – Heero Yuy. His eyes move to the column 'Estimated Net Worth' and widened.

"Holy Mother of fuck!" He shouted in the quiet of the library, people around him immediately shushing him.

He was aware the man was a billionaire but to see the zeroes visualized like that and to see the number before those zeroes was staggering.

 _29 billion dollars_ and that number was steadily climbing. To put that number into perspective he did a quick calculation in his head and realized that taking ten million dollars from this man, was the equivalent to somebody stealing five dollars' worth of pocket change from Duo, given his savings which amounted to fifteen-thousand dollars. Once his wits returned to him the comparison infuriated him. At that point the job became more than a necessity, but a moral responsibility. It wasn't right for one person to have so much, in a world where the common man has so little and others even less. He knew the ten million dollars would matter little to nothing to the man, but having his house and his personal life violated like the way they planned for this heist – with Duo aiming to earn his trust only to betray him -, would leave him shaken. Maybe then he would realize that the commensurate of five dollars to him, meant a difference to others; a difference worth risking it all for.

When he got home that evening he found J.J. sitting in the grungy hallway, by the door to the apartment, fast asleep. He sighed and stared at the younger man, upper body slumped against his raised knees. The smell of alcohol was practically strong enough to make Duo drunk. He lightly jostled the sleeping figure with his foot.

J.J. jolted to life.

"Did my neighbor let you in again?"

"Yeah, he.. she- whatever…" He lost his train of thought. He scrambled up on his feet, supporting himself and balancing himself against the wall.

"I should warn her not to do that again."

"Come on, brother, I thought things were cool between us again."

"Sure," Duo unlocked the door and pushed inside. "Nothing brings people together like plotting a heist. Maybe we'll get lucky and we get to spend the next ten years in prison together, working on our brotherly relationship."

"Dude, dial back the sarcasm," The other complained, following him inside and kicking the door shut. "Where have you been man? I thought you might have chickened out."

"Chickened out," Duo repeated incredulously under his breath. _Asshole_. "I've been at the library."

J.J. frowned.

"You know, the big building with lots of books in it."

"Fuck you." He shuffled towards the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. "Don't you have a beer, or something?"

Duo pushed the door shut, noting unapologetically that J.J.'s fingers nearly got caught. "I think you've had enough."

"Don't look at me like that. Don't judge me. These are really difficult times for me. My boss is threatening to kill me, you know."

"Imagine that. What on earth could his problem be?" The older one rolled his eyes and pushed his little brother towards the couch where he fell down on the cushions. He came forward and leaned over his menacingly. "Now might not be the right time to make me start questioning why I love you."

He grinned stupidly. "Aww, big brother loves me."

He grabbed his collar and half pulled him up, bringing his face closer to him, the stench of booze was insufferable. "Stop doing this."

J.J. fought him off weakly. "Stop what?" He whined pathetically.

"Pumping yourself full of alcohol and drugs. That shit will kill you, Jared. I'm not about to risk my life to steal money to save your ass, only to have you drink and snort yourself into an early grave. Because if that's where you are headed, we might as well let Tsubarov put you out of your misery."

The addict groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "You're such a buzz-kill."

Duo let him drop back down on the couch. He walked away, to the other side of the room, afraid that if he didn't create some distance between them he would not be able to stop himself from physically hurting the other man. Facing the moldy wall he took a number of deep breaths. He heard J.J. move around, the springs of the couch squeaking as he shifted his weight.

"You still have this?" The younger man wondered with a bemused tone. "Dude, have you been jacking off to it?"

He spun around and saw J.J. had sat up, holding up the issue of Forbes at a ninety-degree angle, flipping through it like it was a porn magazine.

Realizing the content was nothing but boring he placed the magazine in his lap and stared at the cover. "The dude is kind of hot."

"I'm not interested."

J.J. snorted. "Yeah, cuz we all know hot Asian dudes aren't your type."

Duo put his hands on his hips. "Are you here for a reason other than torturing me?"

He looked off to the side, thinking it over, then a light must have switched on upstairs because he suddenly sprang to his feet. "That's right! I came here to tell you that Neil called, apparently he couldn't reach you. Still having those 'technical problems' with your answering machine, huh? Anyway, we have our appointment with Tsubarov tomorrow, at noon."

"Great," Commented Duo. He walked to the front door and held it open. "Thanks for telling me."

"You want me to _leave_?"

"Yes. Please, go home, go to bed."

"Fine." He stumbled past him, into the hallway. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't be late."

"I won't be."

That would be a first, he thought to himself. He closed the door and rested his forehead against it.

He was so _tired_ and the job hadn't even started yet. He had no idea how he was supposed to handle this mess, even now that they had found a solution, the problem still felt hopelessly insurmountable. Tsubarov would always be there, looming over then, regardless of whether or not they would be able to pull off this heist. And J.J. would always find his way into trouble, requiring his help.

When A.J. had welcomed Duo into the family the young braided man had been happy to be part of a family, not fully aware of the burden of responsibility that came with it. Once you love someone, you carry them forever. Some people are light, fit right in your pocket, or a little knapsack, so to speak. Others weigh down on your shoulders so heavily you are buckling at the knees, it's a challenge to just stay standing, it is impossible to move forward and achieve any goal; everything remains out of reach.

With that appropriately depressing perspective on his existence he crashed onto his bed. He was so exhausted that even his troubles could not keep him awake and not even the demons that haunted him in nightmares could rouse him before the break of dawn.

At noon the next day he waited outside the gates of the fenced yard surrounding the warehouse. He tried not to pay attention to that same guard pacing back and forth, ignoring the man when he had shouted unrepeatable things at him when he had arrived fifteen minutes earlier. He leaned back against the chain link fence, being gently rocked by the wind. He could hear the snorts of the wild animal, every sound the man made carried across the yard to Duo's sensitive ears. When Neil arrived and joined him the braided American pretended not to be affected, even though the shorter, older man intimidated him. To be eligible for the position of general means to have some skeletons in the closet, quite literally.

"Can I bum a smoke?"

Duo wordlessly handed him a cigarette and lent his silver lighter.

"Can we trust your brother to be on time?"

"No. We can't trust him not to make us look like fools either."

"Yeah, the kid really doesn't get how the world works, huh?"

"No," Replied Duo quietly. How would J.J. know? How would he learn? He never had to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, Duo always stepped in, took care of things; took care of him. Maybe if he had been J.J.'s real older brother he would have felt like he had the right to be strict and to take a step back, but with the way things came to be, he never had the heart. He could only be the brother he knew how to be; the overprotective one. That was the way A.J. had been, that was the legacy he had to honor. "Thank you for giving us this chance."

"Don't thank me. This isn't charity. I'm not doing you any favors. Like you said yourself, I need you as you much as you need me." Neil shrugged. "In my experience that is all that is necessary to make a partnership work. But it doesn't hurt that your little dilemma with Tsubarov insures me that you are not going to back out on this."

"What about Angelica? What kind of insurance do you have with her?"

"She's a pro. As long as she gets paid, I don't have to worry about her." He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. "Here comes your baby brother."

"What's up, guys?" J.J. greeted cheerily as he approached them. "Right on time."

"Five minutes late, actually," His older brother made sure to point out.

"Let's go." Neil led the way into the yard towards the entry.

They weren't stopped by the guard, they were allowed to enter without the hold-up of a frisk.

J.J. had a chipper, up-beat attitude, too stupid to be afraid. Neil was impassive, unimpressed by the blood stains, the bullet holes, the overall putrid smell of death and the squeaking of rats in the walls and in the rusty pipes. Duo was embarrassed at the goose bumps on his skin, although he knew he had every right to be terrified. With only one-and-a-half week left until the deadline of Labor Day, Tsubarov was either going to let them assist Neil on this heist, or shoot J.J. on the spot – and probably subject Duo to some impromptu corporal punishment. The drug lord had already been waiting for his money longer than he was used to, giving them a timeframe, albeit too short, that was much longer than the time he had given previous employees who failed him. Duo recognized with trembling trepidation that he could very well come out of this building missing fingers, ears, teeth and his little brother.

They went through the double doors and followed the walkway deep into the warehouse. When they came into view and started down the stairs Tsubarov reacted favorably to Neil's presence, welcoming him with a Russian greeting. He was less excited about Duo and J.J. joining them and seemed to berate Neil for bringing them along, judging by his tone as he spat foreign words.

"We have an offer to make you," Duo interrupted bravely, his voice echoing off the walls.

The older man sized him up. " _You_ are going to make _me_ an offer?" He chuckled deeply. "Duo, you are in no position to bargain."

"Neil needs us for the job he has planned, if you give us the time it takes to pull it off, you'll have your money. If not, you are going to have to settle for the pleasure of killing J.J. Is that really worth one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars?"

The physically unimposing man shrugged. "Close enough."

J.J. squirmed.

"And what about more?"

"More what?"

"More money. We can get you more money. Name your price."

Tsubarov turned and walked over to his throne, sitting down tiredly. "I don't know what kind of job Neil has planned, I like to be surprised, but I doubt you can get me enough money to persuade me to give you- how much more time?"

"You'll have your money by January."

The man let out a roaring laugh.

"Trust me," Said Duo coldly, "You want to give us more time."

He narrowed his eyes at him. The game Duo was playing with him piqued his interest. "Do I? Well, you are the mind reader, I guess."

Neil stepped in. "I need Duo for what I have planned. His 'mind reading' skill is exactly what the job requires, as is his non-existent criminal record; a potent and rare mix."

"Alright, so his participation is of value to you," Tsubarov acknowledged. "But's what's in it for me?"

" _Five million dollars_."

They all looked at Duo, one more shocked than the other, as the statement echoed through the room.

J.J. grabbed his arm and tugged at him. "What the fuck are you doing?" He whispered harshly, his intention had been to pay Tsubarov the exact amount they owed him and keep the rest for themselves, but like Neil pointed out, the drug addict didn't understand how this world worked. Duo knew he had to overwhelm the drug lord with a strong offer to change his mind.

Duo shook his arm free and ignored the pathetic pleas of his foolish, greedy brother. "Five million dollars," He repeated for shock value. "That is fifty percent of the total haul, it's our entire cut. The rest is for your upcoming general and to pay the others and finance everything."

Tsubarov straightened in his seat, Duo had his undivided attention. The man was practically salivating with avarice.

"We will pay you five million, instead of one hundred and twenty-five thousand. But now I _am_ in a bargaining position," Duo asserted boldly. "My conditions are simple. You will consider all of J.J.'s debt paid and you will terminate his employment."

J.J. stammered something in protest but was instantly shushed by Tsubarov, of all people.

"You will not bother him or me ever again. You will not contact us. You will not suck him back in," He demanded determinedly. "You'll get five million dollars and we'll be free from you for the rest of our lives. It's up to you. What do you want? Five million… or nothing?"

Tsubarov was silent for a long time, but then he started laughing darkly. "Duo, I'm afraid I've underestimated you. I thought you weren't much smarter than little Jared, but it seems you have real potential. You would have been a valuable addition to my crew, it disappoints me that you never joined my staff," After a long pause he added with a smirk: "And you never will."

Duo's heart stilled in anticipation.

"I'll just have to live with that and… console myself with all that money you are going to give me. You, my friend, have yourself a deal."

Relief washed over him, nearly bringing him to his knees, nearly making him sob, but he stopped himself from showing any emotion, keeping up the aloof, confident façade.

"I'll let you do this job, whatever it is, the deadline has been moved to January. Once you pay me, you and J.J. will never hear from me again."

"Good." He pivoted on his heels and strongly grabbed the shoulder of his shell-shocked brother, dragging him along towards the stairs.

"I do, however, have only one minor concern," Tsubarov voiced, stopping them in their tracks.

Duo turned around reluctantly.

"Once you have all that money, how can I be sure that you won't take it for yourselves and make a run for it?"

"We have an agreement. I'll honor it. I'll make sure J.J. does too."

The old man shook his head. "I'm afraid you have proven over the past few years that you let J.J. get away with pretty much anything."

He ransacked his mind for a clever way to put him at ease, not wanting Tsubarov to back out of the deal. "Neil will be there, he can keep an eye on us."

" _Neil_?" Tsubarov chuckled and looked at the other man. "That's cute," He remarked. "But that doesn't ease my concern. It's one against two after all. I'll feel more comfortable if another employee of mine will join your little team, to even things out and make sure you will not try to steal what will be _my_ money. He will not require a cut of the bounty, I'll pay him for his trouble. But he is to be included in this entire operation and the heist itself, so he can keep a careful eye on you."

"But-"

"The negotiations-part of this meeting is long over, Duo. I'm not asking, I'm telling; one of my enforcers will tag along to keep you boys honest."

An enforcer, someone who does all the dirty work: someone who is responsible for the blood stains and the bullet holes. Not the kind of man he would eagerly welcome on board. He was clearly not in a position to reject this addition to their team.

Tsubarov didn't even wait for his approval. "It was nice doing business with you, Duo Maxwell. Have a nice day."

With his heart lying in his gut like a heavy stone he started up the stairs and forcefully pulled J.J. along with him. He had to trust that it would work out. Oddly, one thing he knew about Tsubarov was that he was a man of his word. Still, this enforcer worried him, they were suitable for their jobs because they were vile, violent men; psychopaths with a purpose. They would have to tread carefully. The leash would be so long Tsubarov might not have any control over his dog. He could only hope 'Neil' had the necessary authority to keep this enforcer in check.

Outside J.J. yelled hoarsely: "What have you done? We'll be left with nothing!"

Duo glared at him over his shoulder as he continued to urge him along, to safer grounds. He bit back: "Once he had gotten wind of how much money is involved in this, he would have wanted it all anyway. If we play this right, we'll be left with our lives! With our freedom! I just saved your sorry ass – hopefully for good – so I'm not making any apologies."

With that out of the way the real work began.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Four**

Another expensive taxi ride to the apartment building at the edge of Corbeau Park and Duo was starting to wonder if 'Neil' was going to reimburse him for his costly commute.

J.J. was jittery, clearly he had enjoyed some of Tsubarov's finest product the night before and he was coming down from his high. He wiggled his foot and picked at the frayed edge of a tear in his jeans, right over his bony knee. The constant fidgeting agitated the braided American as he watched the teller reach a higher amount every time he blinked.

When the younger one brought up his hand to pluck at the scab that had formed over the sore on his top lip Duo swatted his hand away. J.J. always had little wounds like that on his face or body, caused by drug-induced stupidity that led to fights with equally intoxicated strangers. The cuts weren't allowed to heal, and oftentimes got infected, thanks to his obsessive scratching.

"Just let me!" J.J. whined childishly and touched the scab again with his dirty fingernails. "It itches."

"It'll stop itching if you leave it alone."

"No."

Duo grumbled and purposefully turned his head away and stared out the window. "Fine," He muttered, "Pick at it. Let it get infected. See if I care if a bacteria eats your face off." A cursory glance revealed J.J. had lowered both hands back into his lap. He was wringing his fingers, they were turning red with how tightly he was squeezing them, but at least he showed to be capable of some minute measure of self-restraint.

They reached their destination, Duo paid the cabby and they took the elevator up.

Angelica greeted them the same way she had before, by inconspicuously patting them down. Although there was nothing inconspicuous about her pinching Duo's ass cheek playfully.

"Couldn't resist," She explained.

Duo's smile faltered and he halted in the doorway when he noticed an additional figure in the mostly empty and white apartment overlooking the mansions of Corbeau Park. The man's frame, cloaked in black denim and worn, black leather, he estimated to be six feet and five inches tall; a true behemoth of a man with big, slumping shoulders and heavy-looking arms. His head was shaved, his oily skin gleamed in the sunlight of the late afternoon, on the back of his head was the black and grey image of a bear standing upright, snarling to show his teeth and arms spread out to display his big paws and huge claws.

J.J. trotted inside, free of any concern and greeted Neil casually before not so secretly inspecting the tank that they were supposed to believe was merely a man.

Neil approached him, still frozen in the doorway and escorted him inside. Duo could tell his demeanor was different from last time, the big man intimidated him. That was not a good thing. That was Tsubarov's dogs, dogs need to know who the master is, if no one else assumes the position of alpha male, they themselves will. Considering the rabid animals Tsubarov likes to surround himself with, Neil's blatant lack of assertiveness was dangerous.

"Duo Maxwell, this is Vakhrov Petrovich."

Neil, clearly Russian in spite of his chosen code name, might have been able to handle the pronunciation of the name, but Duo was choking on his own tongue at the mere thought of attempting to repeat it. That issue was quickly resolved when the mountain of a man turned around to face him – revealing his weathered, ugly face and dead, blue eyes – and said with a surprising lack of an accent:

"They call me The Bear." His voice was gravelly yet powerful.

The Bear. Duo reeled back before he remembered that he mustn't show his fear, dogs could smell fear.

His idiot brother – whose ignorance could always be counted on – remarked characteristically dumbly and unfazed: "I've never heard of you."

The Bear looked at J.J. and grinned. "I've heard of you," He retorted ominously, "But there hadn't yet been the need for our paths to actually cross."

J.J. shrugged it all off, not realizing The Bear meant to say that Tsubarov had discussed getting rid of him with The Bear in the past and that his presence was a definite threat to his life if things didn't go according to plan.

Duo worried about the way the fittingly grizzly man looked down at his fragile little brother, like he was looking forward to a screw up, just so he could enjoy splintering his bones and squeezing the life out of his weak frame. The American had been blessed with a generous growth spurt in his early adolescence and he prided his physique, but he would not be able to defend J.J. if that bear should decide to maul him.

To interrupt the predatory focus of The Bear on J.J. Duo started innocently, letting his frustration from earlier show: "Why are we meeting here?"

"This is a long con," Neil answered, moving to the window. "I wanted all of you to, literally, keep your eyes on the prize as we make our preparations. It's important that we do not lose focus. We are not the most unified team, so we need to keep our common goal in mind, if we hope to achieve it."

Duo accepted the explanation although he did think to himself the measure was a little exaggerated. Neil was determined to make this endeavor a success. Understandable, since succeeding would change his life in a positive way and failing would – considering the stakes – leave him with a fate similar to J.J. The Bear was there for both of them. No, Duo realized, with a shudder he could barely hide, The Bear was there for all of them.

"Alright," J.J. clapped his hands, "Let's get started!"

Neil glared at the younger man, he wasn't going to accept the drug user stealing his spotlight. This operation was going to be his master piece and when all would be said and done he wouldn't want anybody to call into question who was the puppet master. But he needn't worry, J.J. had no authority and none of the others paid him any heed. "Let's do this," Neil said and he had the small group gather around the singular desk. The Bear lingered in a corner, as it stood he would have no active part in the plan itself, he was only there to breathe down their necks.

"I've been doing my homework on Yuy," Duo started. "He's going to be a tough nut to crack."

J.J. chuckled rather childishly, as was to be expected.

Ignoring him, he continued: "I haven't yet figured out how to get close to him. As well-known as he is, he reveals very little of himself to the media. I don't yet know how to insert myself into his life, he seems a bit of recluse."

Neil waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I already have something lined up for you that will get you close to our target."

With an eyebrows raised in skepticism, he asked the obvious question: "And what would that be?"

"A position on Yuy's staff has opened up-"

Another infantile chuckle coming from J.J.

Well, Duo thought to himself, at least he is paying attention to what was being said.

"They are looking for a new assistant gardener. How's your green thumb?"

Duo was utterly underwhelmed by the idea. "Black and dead." He couldn't help but show his disappointment, he had hoped Neil would understand how hard it would be to get next to someone like Yuy, it seemed the intricacy of befriending a solitary, distrusting billionaire was lost on him.

"You're saying no to my plan?" Neil concluded, his bitterness at the blatant rejection of what he probably thought to be an ingenious idea was apparent. He asked sharply: "Why?"

Not wanting to further anger his employer, he explained calmly: "A gardener - an assistant gardener no less – is going to be invisible to a guy like Yuy. Rich billionaires don't socialize with the help," He spat resentfully. "You'd be putting me into a position so far beneath him, as far as he is concerned, he can't help but look down on me, he won't even talk to me. I'd just be one of his servants."

"But you'd be at the house every single day!"

"Like his maids. Like his butler. Like his private chef." He shook his head. "It won't work, he is used to ignoring people like that, he won't give me the time of day."

Neil fingered some papers spread out on the surface of the desk. After a long silence he agreed with Duo's observations, but stomped on the small victory by quickly reminding all of them that they were at square one and had no idea how to get Duo close enough to the target for his manipulation to take effect.

"Maybe you could present yourself as, like… like a rich businessman, just like Yuy, wanting to do business with him," J.J. tried optimistically.

"To even be allowed close to him my background would have to check out so I would actually have to have a billion dollar company that Yuy might be interested in doing business with. Now, if any of us had any idea how to build a billion dollar company – in a few weeks no less – we wouldn't be here in the first place," Duo refuted.

"Can't you pull a 'Notting Hill' on him? Just literally run into him, with a cup of coffee or something."

The American shook his head at Angelica's simple proposal. "I'd be tackled by bodyguards before I'd even get close to him."

"Then you come up with something!" An irritated Neil bit.

"I don't have enough information yet," Duo admitted.

"I thought you said you had done your homework."

"I thought I also said Yuy is very private and doesn't reveal much about himself to the media," Duo shot back.

"Then we go with the assistant-gardener-plan!"

"No!" Duo took a deep breath to calm himself, he tried more mildly: "No, please… Just give me a few days. I'll find a way in."

J.J. jumped up, recognizing what his big brother alluded at. "Stake-out!" He called excitedly.

Duo glared at him, but confirmed to Neil that he would have to observe the house and Yuy's routine for a few days. "All I need is a car and a couple of days. I'll find a way," He assured the group.

The would-be general contemplated the request, but Duo could already tell he would give his consent, he just had to find a way to save face. Sternly, Neil barked: "You have until Saturday, if you can't find another way, get used to the idea of mowing lawns."

J.J. grinned at his big brother, looking forward to staking out the house and following the target around. Duo knew the younger man would quickly grow bored with the process and he did not expect him to last the full four days Neil had granted him for his research. Which was for the better, because he was not excited about spending four days in a car with J.J., all his mood swings and him bouncing back and forth between hyper-activity and near-comatose laziness.

The remainder of the meeting Angelica was given a budget to buy the equipment necessary to crack the safe the billionaire had installed. She required a large funds, because to be truly prepared, she argued, she would need to practice on an actual Kensington Double Fortified, meaning they would have to purchase one. Over the next few months while Duo could hopefully fulfil his part of the plan, she would spend her days practicing on cracking the safe as quickly as possible and finding a way around Yuy's other security measures – that Duo would have to gather as much intelligence on as possible, like the location of security cameras throughout the house.

Neil's responsibility was streamlining the individual tasks, but also activating his considerable social network to aid them during the long con. With a single phone-call to an _old friend_ – which meant; someone who owed him a debt – who worked at a used car dealership, he managed to arrange for Duo and J.J. a different car each day. The same car parked in the streets of a neighborhood like Corbeau Park would draw unwanted attention.

The Bear would accompany Angelica on her shopping spree, she didn't appear to be intimidated by him. Luckily the big man showed no interest in joining the other two men on the stake-out.

After two hours of planning, Neil made sure everybody knew their tasks and then sent them on their way. They would meet up again at the apartment come Saturday, awaiting news from Duo.

J.J. was excited like a young puppy, trotting after Duo as they went to get the first car from the dealership. "We'll finally have our own car!"

"We're just borrowing it, J.J."

"But still." He wrung his hands together greedily. "I hope it's a cool car. We could go cruising. You have no idea how popular having a gay brother makes me with the ladies."

J.J.'s disappointment was evident when half an hour later they drove off in a respectable – definitely not _cool_ – Volvo estate car in a dull, unassuming shade of grey. However, still in a positive mindset as he had enjoyed a small line of coke shortly after the meeting earlier, he noticed the upside of the spacious vehicle, rudely planting his worn boots on the dashboard, only to have Duo push his feet back down.

"If we damage this thing that guy at the dealership is going to get in big trouble."

The black haired young man shrugged nonchalantly. "So? That would be, what I'd like to call: ' _his problem_ '…" Defiantly he put his feet back up on the dashboard.

Unable to contain his anger Duo shouted at him: "Keep your fucking feet to yourself!"

J.J. knew him well enough to recognize the dangers of arguing with him or challenging him when he was like that. He put his feet back down and, like the model citizen that he was, he finally decided to fasten his seatbelt like he had been told to do ten times since they drove off. After barely a minute of tense silence he wondered meekly: "Do you think that maybe we could stop by McDonald's or something?"

"So you can get grease stains on the seat?"

"Come on! What's a stake-out without fast food! It's sacrilegious, that's what it is."

"Jesus. Sacrilegious? Word of the day toilet paper?"

With a pout he stated: "I'm not as dumb as you think I am."

God, I sure hope so, Duo thought to himself, turning off the main road to head towards the nearest fast food establishment with a drive-through. "You know we've never had a stake-out in a car before, we've always made due. Why does it have to be a proper stake-out this time around?"

"Exactly because we finally have a car and we can do it the right way! Like cops on TV."

The idea of them as officers of the law was laughable, they didn't quality as law abiding citizens. But Duo realized he might as well make the best of the situation and J.J. would only get all the more whiny and annoying if he wasn't fed.

The interior of the car reeked of greasy fries and overproduced hamburger after their short detour.

Duo was tense with nerves as he steered the car onto Corbeau Park drive. He followed the road for a few miles, the houses on either side exponentially getting larger as they headed for the heart of the fancy neighborhood. After a right turn and another mile or two the impressive wrought iron, black gates of the Corbeau estate appeared before them. The ten feet tall, spear tipper rods glowed in the sunlight of the early evening. Beyond the gates two stoic guards in tailored suits – accenting their impossibly broad shoulders - stood watch.

First he circled the entire lot, practically pressing his nose up against the side window looking up at the brick wall that lined the perimeter. If any audacious crook tried to scale the wall they would be met with barbed and electrical wire on top. There was another gate at the back of the estate, but it was no less guarded. He caught a glimpse of a man in military style, black attire, escorting a massive German Shepherd, patrolling the grounds.

Yuy was decidedly not a fan of unwanted guests. It appeared he had taken every precaution, but Duo knew that regardless of how expertly he had fortified his home, his defenses would be rendered moot if the barricade around his heart wasn't equally secure. The problem was that he couldn't see that wall, he couldn't size up his emotional armor, not until he had already gotten close enough to potentially get hurt by his defensive weaponry.

"This guy is fucking crazy," J.J. surmised judgmentally.

"Is he? Is he crazy because he is protecting himself? Considering we _know_ there are people out to rob him."

"Why would he even care if someone robbed him of ten million? Didn't you tell me you calculated that ten mill to him was the same as five bucks to us?"

"I don't think the money is the only reason for all these protective measures…" Duo mused aloud. "He just can't stand the thought of people coming into his private space. He'd probably consider it a defeat too, like being outsmarted in a game of chess. From what I could gather from the few interviews he's done recently, he knows he's the smartest guy in the room and he likes it."

"So how are you going to outsmart the 'smartest guy in the room'?"

The braided one flashed a grin. "He hasn't been in the same room as me yet."

J.J. snorted, unimpressed. "You don't seriously believe you are smarter than this billionaire-genius-prodigy-wonderboy, do you?"

Duo shrugged. "There is an important difference between intellectual intelligence and emotional intelligence. I just need to beat him on one front."

He took a bite of his double cheeseburger. "Well, then we better fucking pray this guy is emotionally retarded." He laughed when his big brother blindly tried to hit him while focusing on the road.

After circling the estate once more he parked the car a few blocks away and got out to do another lap on foot, ordering J.J. to stay in the car. He had his braid tucked into the back of his coat so it wouldn't be noticed. With his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans he walked around casually. The estate was enormous, so it was a long walk, but it was good to get out of the stinking car and away from J.J.

As he passed by the front gate, his heart was pounding. He could feel the eyes of the guards on him, the biting chill of their stare not dulled in the least by their dark sunglasses. He purposefully ignored them, faking a complete lack of interest in the lot beyond the gate. From the corner of his eyes he could tell there was not much to see, so it wasn't worth risking a direct look. All he caught sight of was the green of big trees lining a long, white gravel driveway that led to the mansion. The mansion itself was too far away to be seen. He rounded the corner and started the long trek along the east side of the property. The tall brick wall completely obscured his vision, so he listened intently. At one point – he estimated about halfway along – he could hear running water, perhaps a water fountain. A few yards further he slowed his pace as he heard voices; two women talking. They sounded young. They sounded carefree. They were enjoying themselves. They were laughing but he didn't know why, they had been speaking Spanish. Maids on their coffee break.

He reached the back gate where the watchful gazes of two other stern guards followed his every move. He dared a quick look, nodding innocently in greeting at one of the men, while sneaking a peek past him. A thick line of trees and shrubbery obstructed his view. As the branches and the leaves moved in the wind he would only catch a hint of sand-colored brick and white window sills far beyond.

When he returned to the car J.J. had finished his own meal and Duo's as well.

"Anything interesting?" He inquired his mouth still working on the last, very large bite.

"Not really. The house can't even be seen from the street." He started the car and relocated it to a place from where they could observe the front gate. Duo produced his notebook from his pocket. J.J. gradually fell asleep, his stomach content.

Keeping a close eye on his watch he timed the lap of the patrol with the guard dog and he took notes of the coming and going of people; the changing of the guard. He deduced the other personnel probably left through the back gate, they would have to stake out there the next day.

It was boring, it was difficult to maintain his focus, but each time he threatened to nod off, he caught sight of J.J. sleeping soundly in the passenger seat and he was reminded of what was at stake.

He was instantly wide awake when suddenly a glossy black town car – a Rolls Royce of some kind - appeared, the gates opening before it with seamless timing so the vehicle didn't even have to pause at the entry. The rear windows were blinded, all he saw was a quick, barely conscious glimpse of the _chauffeur_. The moment lasted but mere seconds but with his heart stuck up his throat it felt like a terrifying eternity.

That must have been Yuy, returning home from work most likely. He noted the time; ten thirty.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. J.J. had really gotten them into deep shit. He feared no measure of dedication and preparation would amount to anything. The situation seemed so bleak again all of a sudden, like the reality of 'seeing' Yuy – closer than ever before yet still so far away, so unreachable – had shattered his confidence.

How did one befriend a guy who, apparently, had no friends and no interest in making friends? Especially since they had nothing in common, nothing that was genuine would draw Yuy to him, every inch of common ground would have to be fabricated, the entire relationship would rely on smokes and mirrors. He had never been given reason to doubt his skills in the past, but he had never tackled such a big job before. He had never been faced with an anti-social genius before. He would have to search deep to find something honest that would connect them, but he didn't even like entertaining the thought that he potentially had anything in common with the billionaire. People like Yuy disgusted him. How many homeless and hopeless had the Rolls Royce sped past to get mister Yuy to back to the comfort of his castle?

The following days were uneventful and drove him into further depths of despair. The billionaire left early in the morning and came home late at night. Duo could never see more than a flash of polished black when the Rolls Royce Ghost – he had looked up the exact model, as if that would be of any help – left and returned. The men at the gates always precisely anticipated the coming and going of their employer, the car never had to idle, waiting for the hydraulics to swing the double gates open.

He never actually saw his target, he was hidden behind black windows. At the downtown office the car always dutifully disappeared into the privacy of an underground, employee's only garage, so he couldn't even spy the man as he got out of his car.

It was Friday night and he had no choice but to accept the truth; the stake-out had been a waste. He had learned nothing. Not even the routines of the staff were subject to his understanding, the schedules were never the same, he could not reliably deduce when the guards would change or when the shifts of the house personnel ended. The notes in his little book were messy and meaningless.

J.J. was in the back seat, he had just woken up after a two hour nap and was playing a game on the cell phone Tsubarov had generously given him. Of course his dimwitted brother didn't realize the drug lord had given him the phone only so he could keep track of him. J.J. had insisted on accompanying his big brother every day. Having him around wasn't as annoying as Duo had feared, at times – though few and far between – the atmosphere between them even felt like it used to, a long time ago, before J.J, had started to slip away. Duo had to treasure hope that if they could just pull off that one con, he could save J.J. not just from execution by The Bear, but from himself as well. He had been given a chance, however slim, to get him back and to make A.J. proud of the two of them, that was worth fighting for. That was worth everything.

The blue sedan Neil's friend at the dealership had given them for the day was parked on the corner with a view of the back gate. There had been no activity since a threesome of maids had left two hours ago.

He listened to the odd sounds from J.J.'s cellphone and his muttered comments as he was fully immersed in the game. He was trying to figure out what to tell Neil and the others at tomorrow's meeting, but he drew a blank on how he could justify these wasted days and on top of that still convince the boss that the assistant-gardener job was not a viable option for their plan.

A lone figure came around the corner and crossed the quiet street. As Duo noticed the person was making a beeline towards the gate, he straightened up in his seat and narrowed his eyes. It was a tall, slim man, dressed in tight jeans and an old, brown bomber jacket. His unnaturally blonde hair stood every which way. When he stopped right in front of the gate Duo leaned over the steering wheel, peering at him. The man got a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and shook the final smoke out into his hands. He hurried to light it and hastily enjoyed a few puffs of nicotine. After a brief wait the sliding gate opened just enough for the single guest to slip into the yard, before he did he threw what remained of the cigarette and the empty carton onto the street. One of the beefy guards took him strongly by his upper arm and escorted him further onto the premises and out of sight.

"What the fuck…?" With a deep frown he watched the gate shut again.

"Hm? What?" J.J.'s curiosity was peaked. He tossed aside his phone and scooted to the middle of the back seat, leaning forward between the two front seats to see what the older man was looking at. "I don't see anything. What happened?"

"I don't know…" Futile as it may have been he took his notebook off the dashboard and flipped it open to a new page.

'20:33, _visitor_?' He wrote. Biting his lip he added three more question marks to express his confusion. He hadn't expected Yuy to be the kind of man to entertain guests. Stranger still was the fact he was snuck inside through the back gate. What the fuck was up with that?

J.J. looked over his shoulder at his note. "Visitor? So much for your anti-social theory."

"Maybe."

The young man quickly lost interest again and lay down in the back of the car, redirecting his attention to the game once more.

Duo picked pensively at the corner of the page, his gaze glued to the gate. He had an uncomfortable, tense feeling in his underbelly; a nagging suspicion.

The tight, worn jeans, with frayed tears over his knees and just underneath one ass cheek. The bleached hair. The bomber jacket that was too warm for the time of year, hinting that he was hiding something underneath. The young man resembled young men Duo had seen before; fitted jeans, attention-seeking hair and fishnet tank tops underneath unassuming jackets and coats.

But it couldn't be…

Three hours later his intense vigil was rewarded when he caught sight of the gate sliding open again, only two feet. He wasted no time and started the car and took the first right into the street where the man had come from. He stopped the car a few yards beyond the corner, where the guards at the gate wouldn't see him. He got out and casually leaned up against the side of the car, lighting a cigarette to complete the scene. Curiously J.J. joined him, just in time to see the young man walk right towards them. He noticed them and his step faltered momentarily, but he appeared mostly unalarmed and continued along. As he passed them Duo extended out his arm, holding his packet of cigarettes out to him.

"Would you like a smoke?"

The man stopped and looked at him suspiciously.

"I just want to talk."

He eyed the cigarettes and was clearly tempted.

"Go ahead," He encouraged him and it was all that was needed to get the man to take him up on his offer.

He accepted a cigarette and leaned in close for Duo to light it for him with his treasured silver Zippo. "So what do you want?" He had an old-timey New York accent that made Duo's brow twitch into a frown.

"Are you a friend of Yuy?" The American conman inquired innocently.

He looked down at himself – at his poor man's attire - with a bitter chuckle and remarked: "Obviously not."

"What were you doing at the house, then?"

He smirked. His teeth were flawless. "You figure it out." He demonstratively held up the lit cigarette and thanked him for the smoke, then he turned on his heels and walked away.

As the man was out of earshot, Duo muttered to himself: "Fuck…"

J.J. raised an eyebrow in question.

"I just found my way in." He threw his cigarette butt onto the pavement and pressed his heel into it to kill the flame. With big strides he walked around the car and got back into the driver's seat.

J.J, fumbled to get into the passenger seat before Duo would speed off. "What are you talking about?"

"Shut up, J.J.!" He barked. "I _really_ hate you right now."

"What? Why?"

"Because of you I'm going to have to be Yuy's whore."

J.J. wisely kept his mouth shut the entire ride back into their shitty part of town. Duo dropped him off at his apartment and went home alone, contemplating the consequences of the night's discovery. He felt sick; nauseous and dizzy because he knew that however reluctant and disgusted he was, he would have no choice but to make the best of this opportunity. He couldn't deny that it had all the appearances of divine intervention. What were the odds that their target would turn out to be homosexual?

The objective had made a lateral shift. Rather than getting the billionaire to like him, he had to get him to love him. Essentially that wasn't a much more complicated task, the potential pitfalls were counterbalanced by the inclusion of a new factor that he could use to his advantage; sexual attraction. The new physical element could help gloss over the differences between them that would normally be irreconcilable.

Duo was up all night trying to convince himself that the development was a positive one, but that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach just wouldn't go away.

Growing up in the environment that he had, every person reaches a point – often in their mid- to late teens – when they consider a seemingly easy and straightforward solution to the problems of hunger and homelessness. Duo still remembered being sixteen – and hungry and cold – when he had seriously contemplated selling his body. Friends from the past had gone down that path and while there was a larger market available for the female prostitutes, he heard men, especially boys, could also make a decent buck giving blowjobs to strangers. And sometimes giving more than that.

A.J. had stopped him. He could still feel his coarse hands on his thin, shivering shoulders and hear him telling him: Nothing is worth selling yourself for.

He couldn't help but wonder if A.J. would say the same thing right then, had he still been alive, knowing what was at stake; his beloved baby brother's life. Duo doubted he would still be as unyielding in his judgment, considering he himself ended up making the ultimate sacrifice for J.J.

The next day he felt broken. He had not managed to get any rest, his eyes burned so badly from staying up all night and crying, he entertained the thought of scratching them out of the eye sockets.

He still had the blue sedan and he used it to pick up J.J. and drive them to the apartment building at the edge of Corbeau park where they were meeting the others. They probably had high expectations, the mission relied heavily on Duo's skills after all.

J.J. was respectfully quiet and he appeared sober, Duo appreciated that.

When they arrived, the three others had been waiting for them. Angelica was as enthusiastic as ever, but Neil was apprehensive.

Duo stood in the middle of the room and he felt them all staring at him.

"So, tell us what you came up with, mister mind reader."

For a moment he seriously deliberated not telling them about his findings. He could simply apply for the assistant-gardener position and see how things would play out. But in the silence that stretched on uncomfortably long he could see the distressed expression on J.J.'s face, who realized at that point Duo was considering an option that would sabotage the con and could cost him his life. Duo knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't give it his all – including his dignity, his integrity and his self-worth. If they were to fail, he would at least need the comfort of knowing he tried everything.

Reluctantly, the braided man stated to the group: "I found something promising."

Everyone was visibly relieved, but none more so than J.J.

"Jesus, Duo. Way to keep us hanging," Angelica quipped.

Neil was still skeptic. "So what did you find, exactly?"

"It appears Yuy enjoys the company of… professionals."

"Professionals?" The question was evident in his eyes, but then realization dawned on the Russian almost comically. "Oh… _professionals_." He nodded in understanding.

"I don't know if it's a regular thing, but it didn't seem like it was a first time, there was definitely an established routine," Duo relayed.

"Fine, but how does it help us that Yuy has a lady of the evening coming over?"

Duo snorted at the newly introduced euphemism and then pointed out bluntly: "Because it wasn't a lady who came to visit."

Neil perked up. "He's gay?" He quickly came to the conclusion: "That's perfect! As it turns out, Maxwell, you really are the right guy for the job."

The American glared at J.J. for evidently disclosing his sexual orientation to the others, but then he bit back, offended: "Yes, I'm a fag, but I'm not a whore! So excuse me, but this isn't exactly _perfect_ for me." He balled his fists at his side when behind him he could hear The Bear snickering.

Neil raised his hands in surrender. "You're right. I apologize. But… you'll do it, right?"

Duo bit on the inside of his cheek. "I have no choice."

"You sure don't," The Bear mocked quietly.

He twisted around and pointed a shaking, angry finger at the giant. "You shut the fuck up!"

"Lay off each other, the both of you!" Neil inserted himself between them.

Duo's knees were weak staring up at the large, bald hulk of muscle, but he wasn't about to back down.

Neil pushed him back and then barked something at The Bear in Russian.

The situation simmered down but the tall man was still smirking at Duo and he didn't like it one bit. It wasn't a good start to their working relationship. They would have to suffer each other's company for several months to come and that encounter wasn't very promising.

To distract Duo, who was still seething, Neil inquired: "How do we get Yuy to… request your company?"

He maintained his glare for a few more moments before finally turning his back to The Bear and answering: "Obviously he has some sort of agency or contact who provides him with company. We have to find out who he calls when he's ' _lonely_ ' and we have to convince that person to refer him to me."

"I can't exactly call every pimp in town and ask if Yuy is a client of theirs. For starters they would just brush off such a vague inquiry, but most importantly, I don't want word spreading in the underground world that we are interested in the guy. If word gets out, more people will start sniffing around. This job is complicated enough without adding competition into the mix."

"You will be calling every pimp in town," Duo asserted, "But you won't be asking about Yuy. You'll be asking for the guy that we saw leaving the estate last night."

"Catch his name, did you?" The Russian bit back sarcastically.

"No, but I learned enough about him to narrow down our search." He walked over to the desk and arranged a blank piece of paper and a pencil and motioned for Neil to take a seat. "You might want to write this down." He was sure the man wouldn't like being ordered around so condescendingly, but Duo knew he was too important a cog in the machine for Neil to take him out – the whole thing would come to a grinding halt – and he had to let The Bear know he was stronger than he likely thought, or he would get trampled.

Neil was agitated, but compliant. He took the pencil in his hand and awaited instructions.

"Ask your friends about a bleach blond, five foot eleven guy – about a hundred and forty pounds - who is relatively new in the business. He is about twenty-four years old and he hasn't been working for more than six months. He has an old-fashioned New York accent that he picked up watching old movies, it is exaggerated but only because he intends to hide where he is from, namely Texas. My best guess would be Dallas, but he didn't say much, so I can't be sure. He stands out because he does not have a drug-problem, his skin and teeth are flawless. He is a chain-smoker though, he really couldn't resist the cigarette I offered him. Oh and he's not gay."

Neil looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"Strictly gay-for-pay."

"How could you possibly know that?" Angelica chimed in.

"The Force is strong in this one," J.J. remarked jokingly, gesturing dramatically at his big brother.

The aspiring general looked down at the words he had hastily jotted down and recited: "Bleach blond, five-ten, one-forty, less than six months, New York accent, Texan, possibly from Dallas, no drugs, heavy smoker and gay-for-pay."

"Does that narrow it down enough for you?"

"I'll make some calls and I'll let you know."

They were dismissed and wouldn't reconvene until next week, giving Neil the time to spread the news of who they were looking for. Hopefully, giving his large network of contacts, he could cast a wide enough net to catch the one fish in the pond they were looking for. The man would contact Duo as soon as he had a bite.

Duo drove J.J. home and then returned the car to the dealership. The man was visibly relieved his involvement was over. Duo could sympathize, wishing he wouldn't have to take further part in the operation.

Once he arrived back home he dropped down onto his couch, exhausted. He hadn't gotten much sleep the last few nights and none at all the previous night.

The copy of Forbes magazine – with Yuy on the cover – still lay on his coffee table, but he had turned it over so those stern blue eyes wouldn't be looking into his apartment. He had felt uncomfortable with the two-dimensional figure gazing up at his ceiling, those intelligent eyes calculating. He would have never guessed the man was gay, regardless of how highly efficient and accurate his 'gay-dar' had proven to be in the past. If anything the man appeared asexual to Duo, in spite of the fact that clearly he was extraordinarily attractive. Yuy's genes truly were a marvel; gifting him with what was advertised as unparalleled intellect and envious looks.

Gay, Duo noted, turning his eyes upwards at the cracked ceiling, was the first thing they had in common. However uncomfortable it made him, he had to appreciate his luck. He knew he wasn't an unattractive man himself and he could use that to manipulate Yuy. Although, what were the odds that a guy as brilliant at the billionaire in question, would let his dick do the thinking?

He forced himself to read the exceptionally dull, technical article once more, hoping to glean just a little information from it, but he had fully squeezed it dry, the words had no more insight to give. He turned his attention to his chaotic notebook and reviewed his observations, making a brief summary on the final page; a few key points that he would have to rely on for their first meeting. It wasn't much to go by, but at least it was something. And if all else failed… He shuddered. Going in as a hustler was far from ideal, not only because he might have to resort to physical tactics that he was uncomfortable with, but also because Yuy would have a prejudiced conception of him that would disadvantage him right from the get-go. It would be difficult to get a man who prided his genius to like someone he had already decided to be stupid. But at least he wouldn't look right through him, like he would look right through an assistant gardener.

He felt himself slowly nodding off. If only he could fall asleep and disappear into his dreams forever, but he would find no solace in the realm of Morpheus. Even his dreams had been filled with anxiety and terror as of late.

It was the ringing of his phone that startled him awake. He dared to crack one, exhausted eye open and noticed the sunlight pouring in. It appeared he had at least gotten a couple of decent hours of sleep. He had desperately needed that. The American was tempted to let the call go to his answering machine, but then with a jolt he remembered his answering machine was still broken beyond repair and it might be Neil with news. He shot upright and fought his way through displaced furniture and strewn clothes and shoes to get to the phone in time.

"Yes?"

Foregoing the formality of a greeting, Neil started monotonously, like reading from a script: "Bleach blond Dante… Real name: Cleve Sims, born in Arlington, Texas – that is right by Dallas, I'll have you know -, smokes two packs a day, his clientele usually consists of women. He started hooking for _Letitia Rose_ less than five months ago." After a long pause he added rather wistfully: "Maxwell, I'm impressed."

"As am I, you sure found him quick."

"Luck would have it Letty was one of the first on the list that I called. Her business is more high end and discrete, I figured she would be doing business in Corbeau Park."

"And she volunteered information on one of her employees?"

"She owed me a favor."

Of course she did. Everyone owed Neil something, it seemed.

"She had no objections to sending you in for Yuy's next appointment, but that is exactly the problem, I've found."

"Problem?" Duo sat down on the edge of his bed, expecting the worst.

"Yuy wants a different guy every time. She was running out of people to send, which is why she called on Cleve – or _Dant_ e, if you will – who normally only 'takes care of the ladies'. And as soon as she runs out of new stock, he'll move on to the next escort agency. It's what he does."

"Jesus, a different guy every time…" Duo sighed and with his free hand he rubbed his temple as he felt a headache swelling.

"It appears he simply doesn't really like any of them," Neil continued, "He doesn't even fuck them, Letty said he doesn't even talk to them. He just has them sit there while he works. The guy is fucking crazy."

"Maybe he's lonely…" He snorted at himself as the idea almost made him feel sorry for the guy. "Or maybe he just likes an audience."

"If it's just about a bit of company, why doesn't he stick to one guy, rather than hopping from one agency to another?"

It was a fair question. "I don't know. Maybe… Maybe he's looking for something. Maybe he keeps thinking that the _next_ one will catch his interest."

"Looking for what? For love?" Neil scoffed.

"I don't know yet, but if I can figure out what he is looking for, then I might stand a chance." It was an uncharacteristically hopeful notion.

"You'll have to figure it out fast," Neil interrupted his stream of thought. "He's expecting you next Friday."

Duo's heart sank. He had hoped to have a little bit more time, not because it would benefit his research into the subject, but he felt like he needed more time to get used to the idea. Although he was relieved he was not expected to _perform_ , since Yuy didn't require that of his professional company, the thought of spending time with the intimidating target was unnerving to say the least. It was the longest and most challenging con he had ever attempted, there were so many things that could go wrong the pressure was overwhelming. And all that pressure was focused on a single evening. He had to get the billionaire to enjoy his company so much he would want to see him again, that would be quite a feat if the man didn't actually want to converse with his guests and instead just works.

As if he wasn't already sick to his stomach, Neil pressed: "Don't let me down, Maxwell. This is our one chance. Don't make me regret not sending you in as a gardener."

"Assistant-gardener," He corrected absentmindedly.

The Russian snorted in response before promptly disconnecting the line.

He stared at the beeping phone for a while before putting it away. He pulled his braid over his shoulder and toyed with the end, losing himself to his thoughts. After a while of quiet contemplation he moved back to his couch and took the magazine into his lap. Cobalt blue eyes glared daggers at him, he stared right back, hoping that if he just waited long enough, those eyes would cease to have an effect on. He would be facing those cold eyes in real life soon.

"Well, mister Yuy…" He mused aloud, "What do you want from me?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Five**

Never before had it been such a challenge to get dressed. There was so much pressure on his shoulders that he got it in his head that if his outfit wasn't perfectly appealing to Yuy, the effort would be doomed to fail. He had some nice clothes stemming from his favorite con of two years back, when he would frequent upscale clubs and pick pockets while he let horny men and women grind their hips against him. That streak ended when he noticed bouncers were starting to warn patrons upon entry – one of them was even kind enough to warn _him_ of this loathsome thief. He had never gotten rid of the clothes, hoping they would benefit him again at some point, for some kind of job.

"God, I knew you were gay, but I didn't know you were _this_ gay," J.J. complained. He lay sprawled on Duo's bed. He had insisted on coming over and helping his big brother 'mentally prepare' for the evening, but all he succeeded in doing was getting under his skin.

"It's important!" Duo barked in return.

"Just pick those leather pants and whatever shirt."

"I can't, those pants are black."

J.J. observed his closet and noted dryly: "Pretty much all your clothes are black, so what?"

"Yuy doesn't like black," He muttered, biting on the cuticle of his thumb thoughtfully.

"I'd ask how the fuck you know that, but…" He shrugged.

Even though he hadn't actually asked, Duo explained anyway: "In none of the pictures I have seen of him he is wearing black. That might be a coincidence, but given how common the color black is in clothes, suits especially, I think it means something."

"Maybe black just isn't a good color on him," The younger one joked, faking a stereotypical lisp.

"I have to do whatever I can. If he happens to have some kind of negative association with the color, I don't want him to transfer that association to me."

J.J. snorted. "If he hates everyone who wears black… that would explain why he has no social life."

"The goal is to make the best possible first impression. Not wearing black is probably only going to be a tiny percentage of the whole, but I have to try everything."

J.J. rolled his eyes and absentmindedly leafed through the frayed and coffee-stained copy of Forbes Magazine, pausing at Yuy's six-page-spread.

On the cover he was wearing a dark blue, perfectly tailored suit, with light blue dress shirt. The two images between different segments of the interview were semi-candid pictures of him sitting at his desk, gazing at his spectacular view pensively and accepting an award at a fancy gathering; in both cases his suit was grey. In any other picture Duo had been able to find on the internet or in other magazines, Yuy was always dressed in an expensive brand suit which was never black. Not even his ties were black. He had no idea what to make of the fact that his car was black, but he had to go with his instincts.

Eventually he decided on a dark blue pair of jeans and a purple shirt with three buttons at the collar. He kept staring at his own reflection with a grimace, as if he had hoped to compose an outfit that would make the billionaire fall instantly in love with him. WuFei had always liked the shirt on him, he remembered morosely, he said it made his eyes look amethyst.

"You look good," His little brother assured him.

He pulled his braid over his shoulder and gripped the end tightly in his fist. There would be no possible way to hide his braid for this particular con and it added to his anxiety. With his hair out to be seen, he felt exposed, not only because it was a dangerously recognizable feature for a con-artist to have, but also because he had gotten so used to hiding it, it felt intimate to show anybody his hair.

"I just got a text from Neil. He's downstairs with the car."

He took one last, deep breath and then turned away from the mirror. "Yep. Let's go."

They headed downstairs, running into his transgender neighbor on the way down who complimented his looks, even snapping her fingers to express her approval. J.J. made her day by using the fleeting moment to hit on her. Duo wasn't sure if J.J. really didn't care about his neighbor still being part male or if the younger man actually just kept forgetting what Duo had told him about her and was blind to the Adam's apple, the narrow hips and the fact that she was a foot taller than he was. In any case he was shaking his head and for a moment even a smile appeared on his lips.

Outside a big black truck was idling. The two of them climbed into the car, Duo in the passenger seat and J.J. in the back. Neil sped off without so much as a greeting. Halfway into their journey he thought to ask: "How are you doing?" His tone was mechanical and detached. He didn't really care about Duo's feelings but was only probing to see if he had to play nice to boost his confidence.

"Fine." He really didn't want to talk – he didn't want to discuss his 'game-plan', because honestly there was no plan and he couldn't help but feel that he should have been more prepared than he was.

"Feeling confident?"

They passed the first million-dollar-house.

He shrugged in response. "Sure."

Neil looked at him sideways, calling his bluff. He exhaled and reached into the pocket of his jacket for a cigarette and a lighter.

"Could you please not do that?" The braided American blurted as the Russian put the cigarette between his lips.

"What?" He mumbled innocently. "Aren't you also a smoker?"

"Not right now." He eyed the cigarette enviously even as Neil obediently tucked it away. "Yuy isn't a smoker, or so it appears. Non-smokers typically think smokers stink and it seemed like Dante wasn't allowed to smoke in the house. I haven't had a smoke since I showered and I don't want my clothes or my hair smelling like it."

"So you're just not going to smoke whenever you are meeting with him?"

He shrugged again.

"That'll do wonders for the nerves," He observed bluntly.

Neil was right, as the craving for nicotine increased, he would only get more jittery. But when they were still together WuFei would always chastise him about stinking clothes and he wouldn't even kiss him right after he had had a cigarette. He couldn't risk doing anything that might put Yuy off.

He stopped the car just around the corner from the back gate.

Duo took a moment to calm himself, his heart was racing. If he screwed up that meeting, they were all as good as dead. Even for Neil this job had become more than an audition. If he succeeded he would be promoted to general, but if he failed he would be worthless to Tsubarov. From the look in his eyes Duo could tell the man was acutely aware of the fact that he had aligned his fate with that of J.J. and Duo.

"Good luck," Was all Neil said, his voice steady.

"Yeah, bro, break a leg."

Duo nodded and determinedly exited the vehicle. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feeling awkward and unsure, he rounded the corner and approached the gate. Madam Letitia Rose – or 'Letty' as she was known to Neil – had provided him with instructions. All he had to do was walk up to the gate and inform one of the guards he was Yuy's 'nine-thirty'. The guard would call to the house and confirm with the butler if the 'master' was indeed expecting anyone. He wouldn't have to wait long until the gate would be opened and he would be taken by the arm and escorted to the house as he had seen happen to Dante last week. Then he was expected to give the guards a valid ID and they would do a quick background check. He wouldn't get his ID back until the end of the appointment. Letty had told Neil that other pimps had informed her that sending in a professional with a bad record would be a particularly bad idea. They would be thrown back out onto the streets before ever getting into the same room as Yuy. Minor felonies wouldn't be an issue, she had been told, but serious things that security deemed might make someone a threat to their boss would be a deal breaker. Luckily, Duo's record was clean.

Letty told him not to bother to take a cellphone with him, or any other electronic device, those would be confiscated.

Even though posing as a cheap hustler was as classless as he hoped his life would ever get, the mystery and the secrecy did make him feel like an international spy. The smirk that that simple, silly thought brought to his face inspired him to play pretend for his own sake. In reality he could argue that he was some sort of spy, albeit without the allure and sex-appeal that the movies portrayed.

He waited for the guard to make his call to the house. He killed time and calmed his nerves by focusing on moving the weight of his body back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. A jolt passed through his body violently when the gate started moving with a sharp screech. A big arm reached out and thick fingers pressed into his shoulder when he was pulled into the yard strongly. As they had been warned his ID was taken by one guard while the other walked him down a path of cobble stones that lead around the line of trees and shrubs and towards the house.

Duo observed the yard carefully as he was led through it. He tried to pinpoint any additional security measures, but all he could see was a perfectly landscaped garden, dotted with ornamental lights that gave the surroundings a magical appeal. Meanwhile the guard was hissing instructions at him:

"You will not touch anything. You will not leave the room you are taken to without permission. You will obey any and all instructions given to you. You will not touch master Yuy without his permission." He continued to warn him: "The premises is swarming with armed security, if you try anything funny, you will have to live with the consequences, but trust me when I tell you that you won't be living with it for too long."

"Gotcha," Duo quipped in response to the barely veiled threat.

They walked around the last of the big trees and the garden opened up before him. He struggled to swallow a big lump in his throat as he was taken closer and closer to the mansion.

The building redefined the word 'sprawling'. It was enormous. It was only two stories tall but with its incredibly high ceilings it was an immense structure. The back of the house was vaguely shaped like a 'U', with both sides of the mansion protruding a little more into the yard than the center. The two sides both opened up to large decks, the one on the left was shaded with a canopy of evergreen vine. Right in front was a rectangular pool with the azure blue water glowing thanks to the submerged lighting. The façade of the house was dressed in sandcolored limestone. The tall windows were framed by white sills. The windows in the middle part were modern and floor to ceiling, with a tall chimney cutting right through the center.

He was walked past the pool to the open, right deck and using his keycard the guard unlocked double doors leading into the sun room. The interior of the room was entirely white and only sparsely decorated save for the plethora of potted plants. He was rushed further into the house, the sunroom opened up to a long corridor that seemed to run throughout the entire house, connected to smaller hallways and countless of rooms. Some of the doors had glass panels, other openings were archways, but at their pace Duo didn't have the time to properly peek into any of the rooms that they passed. Nor could he make sense of any of the many paintings they walked past. Yuy truly was a hoarder of modern art.

They ended up in the main foyer – making Duo wonder about all the hassle since obviously an entry through the front gate would be more direct, but then he was distracted by the white, marble floor that reflected the blue and purple of his clothes and then his eye was caught by the dazzling shimmer of the modern chandelier overhead. The foyer – as he presumed it was called – was two stories tall and as impressive in its grandeur as the rest of the house. Twin stairs of red oak steps wound their way up with a gentle curve. Right underneath where they met were the double doors back into the hallway where he had come from. Straight ahead from the stairs was the front door, surrounded by floor to ceiling windows overlooking the inner courtyard with illuminated water fountain. Right in the center of the room was a small, decorative table with a lavishly blooming orchid. Two other doors led to the left and right front wings of the mansion which encircled the stone courtyard.

He was flabbergasted. It was so big he wasn't even really sure if it was still beautiful. It was so excessive, so vast, so empty. He couldn't imagine anything other than greed causing someone to seek out a home like that. As soon as the thought came to him of how many homeless youth could be put up in a house that big, he was disgusted and angry. The rift between the rich and the poor was so unfair. Why was the work of this Yuy guy _so_ important that it would earn him _that_ much money? Why should his paycheck be bigger than the paychecks of single moms working double shifts at the diner and old people working well beyond the age of retirement because the banks lost their pension in the economic crisis?

He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking those things, those angry thoughts would only make it that much harder to connect with the impossibly wealthy man.

One of the doors to the side opened and a stately man, with dignified, silver hair, stepped into the foyer and a stereotype was proven to be true when the man introduced himself as the butler – complete with posh, English accent. He could have sworn the older man introduced himself as "Karen" Gerard, but he had probably misheard. Duo's body reacted with a shudder at hearing the man refer to his employer as his master, the same way the dutiful guards had done. In spite of the instant negative associations with the title, the man seemed proud of his function in the household and with straight shoulders and smooth gait he led the guest through the door into the right wing of the estate. The guard was dismissed, Duo realized his background check must have come up clear.

The room to the right of the foyer reminded Duo of old-fashioned, exclusive men's clubs, where accomplished businessmen would end up after a leisurely game of golf to smoke an expensive cigar with pompous friends, but then with a modern twist. An entire forest must have been cut down for the sake of the polished hardwood floors, the wooden paneling on the wall and the massive coffee table in front of the six foot tall fireplace lined with beams of oak. The contemporary leather furniture was a warm shade of caramel and the smell was still new, not a single crease or crinkle in the seats. There was only one, tall window in the corner, looking into the courtyard.

"This is where you will wait for master Yuy," The butler announced.

"Wait for him?"

"He has yet to arrive home from work. Please, do not wander elsewhere." He promptly took a step back, back into the foyer, and pulled the double doors shut.

"Well Hell…" He looked around, looking for clues that would be of help to him, but the room was totally impersonal. He was tempted to open one of the four doors other than the one he knew connected to the foyer, but he had taken notice of the inconspicuous security camera on the ceiling in a corner and he was certain someone was monitoring him.

Getting bored pretty quickly he dropped down into one of the chairs facing the fireplace, frowning at the creaking sound of the pristine leather. Clearly the seats weren't used much.

There was a bowl of fruit on the table but it was arranged to be ornamental. People are starving in this city and he wastes food by putting it on display, Duo thought bitterly and he resisted the urge to mess up the composition of oranges, mangos, kiwis and a singular pineapple at the center. He cast his gaze up at the large, abstract painting above the fireplace. He never could make much sense of modern art. At least the vibrant colors of orange, yellow and petrol blue were a welcome change amidst all the tones of brown of the wood, but other than that the painting was meaningless to him; nothing but lines, colored panels and careless brushstrokes.

He noticed the absence of a clock and instantly regretted not wearing a watch. He had no concept of time, so when the glare of headlights came through the window he had no idea how long he had been waiting.

Not wanting to come across as overly eager, he remained seated, only looking over his shoulder to see the car come around the fountain and stop right in front of the front door. He rolled his eyes when he watched the driver get out the car to open the door for his _master_. He saw nothing but a glimpse of a dark suit.

He faced forward and listened intently. The butler opened the door for Yuy and curtly informed him that his guest was waiting for him. Yuy didn't say anything.

Suddenly, the doors opened and Duo stiffened in his seat. With his back towards the door he couldn't see anything and inexplicably he was too afraid to turn around, even as he realized how foolish he must have looked, frozen like that.

Yuy appeared in his peripheral vision as he moved to one of the other doors.

He couldn't stay still any longer, he turned his head and looked.

Yuy was in a dark grey suit, perfectly fitted to his body, not a single crease in it. His blue tie was still tight around his neck. His hair was brushed back with a generous amount of gel to keep it under control and glossy, it was the way he always wore it, it seemed. He was holding a – _black_ – briefcase by the handle in his left hand. He was squeezing the handle so tightly his knuckles were white. It was then that Duo recognized the man was staring right back at him.

As casually as he possibly could he got up out of his seat and took a few tentative steps towards him. "Hi," was all he could manage and he felt unbelievably stupid.

Yuy opened his mouth, as if he was about to speak, but he ended up only nodding. He opened the door, took a step inside and then gestured for Duo to join him, holding the door open for him.

He quit biting his lower lip as soon as he became aware that he was doing that and he followed Yuy into his home office. Walking past him he was only two feet removed from the man.

Yuy was roughly his height and had a similar built and the billionaire was _his age_ , something he still couldn't fully wrap his head around. Superficial as it was, it added to the currently short list of things they had in common.

The office had a similar style to the 'waiting room', with the same hardwood floors and modern, square wooden panels covering the walls. Windows on one side provided a view of the beautiful fountain in the courtyard. In the wall opposite the windows was an archway opening up to a two-story library. A set of glass doors connected the office to a spacious conference room all the way in the front of the right wing. Yuy's car just drove past it and headed down the driveway.

The man placed his briefcase on his expansive, glass desk in the center of the room and took a seat in his desk chair.

Duo just stood there, appropriately awkward with his hands in his pockets. "This place is incredible." He was careful with his phrasing, he had to be as truthful as possible. Saying the mansion was incredible was not a lie.

Yuy was concise with his reply: "I have work." It was all he said. He booted up his laptop and opened up his briefcase, arranging papers on the desk with such precision Duo thought it was anal and obsessive-compulsive.

He realized the billionaire was seriously just going to sit there and work and he struggled not to panic. What was he supposed to do? Yuy looked so focused, trying to engage him in conversation would probably only serve to annoy the man and that would not help the conman's objective. He jumped when the butler entered unannounced with a tray that he placed on his master's desk; wonderfully smelling espresso.

The butler turned to Duo and asked if he wanted anything.

After stuttering for a moment, confused and disappointed by how things were going, he managed to say no.

"Feel free to take a seat, right here," He gestured at the _black_ leather couch in the room, "Or in the library, and you can help yourself to any book of course." He offered a friendly smile, as if he sympathized with the guest and then left him alone again with his employer.

Duo remained standing there for a little while longer, scratching the back of his neck. Yuy's fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop, only occasionally he would pause to glare at the papers in front of him.

Eventually Duo wandered in to the library, purely compelled by boredom.

The library was quite a magnificent sight. The lights were low, creating interesting shadows on the hundreds of shelves and on the backs of thousands of books. Three sturdy ladders on tracks provided access to the shelves high up in the two-story tall room. In the center of the room was a desk with two comfortable chairs. Only one wall was not covered by bookcases, floor-to-ceiling windows provided a calming view of a small, closed off area of the garden. Most of the space was taken up by a large pond, complete with waterfall – which was the running water Duo had heard the week before, when he walked around the property. The water was lined by playful shrubbery and bamboo and thanks to the underwater light he could see colorful fish swimming around.

He let himself be distracted by the cathartic movement of the fish before realizing he should redirect his attention to Yuy. So he went back into the office and sat down on the leather couch. It, too, creaked, as if to complain; it wasn't used to being sat on. He blushed when he realized he hadn't even tried to introduce himself, so he started stiffly: "I'm Duo… by the way… In case you were wondering." He couldn't prevent his tone from getting sour. However, it felt like a victory when the man looked up from his work. He suppressed the shiver that threatened to travel down his spine. Yuy's eyes were cold and unreadable.

"My name is Heero Yuy."

He forced a chuckle. "Yes, I'm well aware." His face contorted in displeasure when the cobalt blue eyes focused on the screen of his laptop again. The man wasn't giving him anything to work with. All he could tell was the obvious, that the Japanese man was uptight and all about control. Even as the hour was starting to get late, he sat with his back straight and his shoulders stiff. Duo felt uncomfortable just looking at him, with the white collar of his shirt and his blue tie tight around his long neck. Yuy wasn't the guy to 'loosen up'. All work and no play.

Trying to lighten the atmosphere between them, he tried jokingly: "So, I could have sworn your butler said his name was Karen. But that's a woman's name…" When Yuy wasn't responding, not even letting on if he was listening at all, he asked directly: "What's his name?" He tensed up with fear when he noticed the corners of Yuy's mouth turning down, his eyes tightening and his brows furrowing nearly imperceptibly. The businessman was getting annoyed with him, but Duo didn't know what to do and what Yuy expected of him. If he was so busy and didn't want to be disturbed or distracted, why would he invite someone over? And pay for their company no less?

He lay his head on the back of the couch and looked up at a panoramic painting in black, white and grey. It made even less sense to him looking up at it up-side-down. Black, vertical shapes jutted up from the bottom of the painting, the edges faded and undefined. They gave him the creeps. One was taller than all the others, nearly reaching the top frame, but not quite. The background was done in gradations of grey. Trying not to let his defeat show, he continued bravely – perhaps naively: "You're a real fan of modern art, huh?" He shot upright when Yuy bothered to look at him again, only briefly, before turning his gaze up at the painting hanging on the wall above Duo's head. "I saw a lot of paintings in the hallway too… I'll admit, I'm not much of a _connoisseur_." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. It was hard to speak with his heart beating wildly in his throat. "So uh… what is this one about?" He nodded up at the painting.

Yuy answered monotonously: "No one can answer that for you." He looked down and started leafing through a folder.

Duo pursed his lips. Goddamn this stubborn man! "Right, abstract art is all about what the individual sees in it." He jumped up from his seat to properly inspect the painting. With his back turned to Yuy he couldn't see him, but he couldn't hear the sound of the pages being turned anymore, nor did he hear the infuriating clacking of the keyboard, so he hopefully assumed the man was watching him, at least mildly interested. "I see… shadows. And one is taller than all the others. He's looking down on them." He frowned, his analysis was depressing and might give away too much about how he felt about the obscenely rich. In a very real way, he saw Yuy as the towering shadow, tall at the expense of the others. "And they will never be as tall as him, never as good as him, even if the difference isn't even real, because it's just shadows-" He gritted his teeth when he heard fingers ticking on the keyboard again.

Fuck this guy! What was he supposed to do?

He plopped back down into the couch, rudely putting his feet up on the seat, but Yuy didn't even care enough to look, and if he had he would have seen Duo's pitiful pout to boot.

He didn't know how long he sat there with his arms crossed in front of his chest until the butler entered and announced it was time for him to go, which meant the three hours were up and it was eleven thirty.

"Please come with me."

Yuy didn't even look up from his work as Duo followed the butler out. In a last ditch effort he wished him a goodnight and then the butler pulled the door shut and guided him to the foyer with gentle pressure to his shoulder.

Surprisingly, the older man said: "I apologize for my master. He is not the most effervescent person."

Duo let out a single chuckle. The grey-haired man was kind and his care for his employer was genuine. Still, he felt sorry for the man, for having to apologize for the behavior of his boss.

They stopped in the foyer and the butler got an envelope from the table, right next to the potted orchid. He offered it to him. "Your payment, for your trouble."

Duo looked at the envelope. The payment was two-thousand dollars he had been told by Letty, an unusually large sum, but of course it wasn't enough to pay off J.J.'s debt – which Duo had effectively raised to five million dollars. It was his last chance to make an impact, so after quickly calculating his options he pushed the butler's hand back, rejecting the envelope. Shaking his head he explained: "It was no trouble. It doesn't feel right having him pay me, I didn't have to work for it, after all."

He must have been perplexed but he barely let it show. "Are you certain?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

A guard came through the doors underneath the stairs, ready to escort him back off the premises. He glared at the big man when he took him by the arm. Looking back over his shoulder at the butler he said: "Tell mister Yuy I hope he finds what he is looking for."

After a thoughtful pause he nodded.

"No need to squeeze so tight. I bruise like a peach, you should know," He said to the guard as he was guided back through the hallway, through the backyard and to the gate.

Unceremoniously he was handed back his ID and shooed through the gate.

Once he was back on the street his anger started to bubble. He crossed the street, headed for where Neil would be waiting for him to pick him up and muttered under his breath: "What a fucking little cunt. He just fucking ignores me practically all night and then has his servant-man pay me off?" He quieted when he spotted the big truck idling by the sidewalk. His instinct was to run, but that was childish and uninformed. Although he did fear Neil's reaction when he would have to confess to him how badly the evening had gone.

He climbed into the passenger seat and cut Neil off mid-sentence when he asked him how it went, demanding a cigarette. Neil complied and Duo could see his fingers shaking as he held the lighter to the smoke between his tense lips.

The conman inhaled the smoke deeply and breathed out slowly.

Neil appeared reluctant to repeat his inquiry, drawing all the right, unwanted conclusions from Duo's demeanor. "What did he say?" Was what he eventually asked, trying to gauge how definitive the defeat was.

"Not much." He rubbed his eyes, resisting the urge to cry. "About fifteen words, that's it."

"Anything else?" He was referring to his 'mind reading skills'.

"The man is inscrutable".

"What does that mean?" J.J. asked quietly from the back seat.

"It means we're fucked, little brother," Duo replied, his tone inevitably bitter.

Neil lit a cigarette for himself. "So there's no chance? No chance at all?"

"Maybe one in a million." He scoffed. "One in a _billion_."

With his shock making way for anger, the Russian asked: "Are you sure you tried everything? What did you say? What happened exactly?"

"Fuck! There was nothing I could do, okay?! Getting him to talk was like pulling teeth and whatever I said doesn't matter because he wasn't really listening anyway! He's a spoiled brat who thinks he's too good for anybody else."

"We already knew that! But you said you could work with it! You said it would be fine!"

"Oh, fuck you, Neil, we both know what we were up against!"

He shook his head furiously. "I knew it. I should have sent you in as the gardener."

"Assistant-gardener."

"Whatever! Whatever! Anything would have been better than this! _Fifteen words_ , Maxwell, Goddamn it!"

"I don't suppose you could tell where the vault was this single visit?" J.J. asked stupidly.

The two men in the front didn't even bother to respond, continuing to yell at each other.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Neil demanded, "If we don't know where the safe is, everything else is pointless. I stuck my neck out for you!" He gripped the leather steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white and his arms were trembling.

"I'm sorry," Duo grumbled.

"Fuck sorry!" He kept shaking his head. "As soon as Tsubarov finds out the mission is doomed to fail, _we_ are doomed."

"Then I suggest we don't tell him until we know for certain. Let's wait. Maybe Yuy will call for me again."

He snorted. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why the Hell would he? What makes you any different from all those other guys he didn't give a flying fuck about?"

Duo shrugged. He didn't know, he wasn't certain if he was any different, but he would go crazy if he didn't allow himself to hope. "I didn't accept the payment…"

Neil stared at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't tell me _that_ was your master plan from the start."

"There was no plan, okay!" Duo admitted. "But I stood there, about to be paid, and I thought to myself: of all the guys he has ever had over, I bet none of them refused their money at the end of the evening. It was the only thing I could do to distinguish myself from the rest. I figured everything else must have been tried before, because you can bet your ass every hustler in town would want this gig to be permanent. He pays good money and he doesn't even want to molest you in return."

Neil asked the hard question. "What do we do now?"

"We hope we got lucky. Extremely lucky. And that Yuy has a thing for- fuck… long hair or something. In the meantime, we keep looking into other options."

"What other options?" He bit back sarcastically.

"We will have to think of some." He added as an afterthought, but an important one at that: "And not let The Bear know."

He shook his head, "No, he definitely can't know."

Finally he started the car and drove them all home.

During the meeting the next day they feigned optimism to fool The Bear, but Neil slipped Angelica a note to inform her of the stark reality of the situation and they arranged an additional, secret meeting between the four of them the day after that. After an intense brainstorm and several arguments, they agreed that technological-genius Angelica would attempt to hack into Yuy's security's system from the outside. She warned that she had previously discarded the task as impossible, but vowed to give it her best effort. If she could tap into the video-feed they had hope of catching a glimpse of the safe on camera if there was a camera installed in whatever room the safe was in. Duo had noted a lack of visible security cameras in Yuy's home office, but that didn't necessarily mean there was no electronic surveillance at all.

Neil would cast another net and hope one of his many contacts would have more information on the location of the safe after all, or at least knew the person that did. They had reached a point where they were all willing to go as far as to kidnap a person and _persuade_ him to reveal the exact location of the safe. The thought made Duo sick, but he figured this person had the option to save himself and just spill all. If they had to resort to immoral tactics, it would be the man's own responsibility.

Duo tasked his little brother with the fairly unimportant chore of continuing to observe the estate. He didn't think it would actually benefit the con in any way, since their spying effort had been mostly useless, but he needed J.J. to focus on something and not get in anybody's way.

In the meantime, Duo would continue to prepare himself under the presumption that Yuy would call on him again. He would do further research into Yuy. Letty – or Letitia Rose, or whatever – had agreed to meet with him and tell him everything she had heard from the other boys she had sent in. Neil had insisted on her cooperation, after claiming that she owed him didn't convince her anymore, he agreed to pay her a tidy sum for any information she could provide. She was eager to assist, once an exact price for her insight had been negotiated.

Everyone went their separate way and Duo met with Letty on Monday.

He waited for her on his usual bench in the park by the church. She had wanted to meet somewhere both private and public and Duo figured that since he always felt safe by the church, it could have a similar effect on her.

At the exact time they had agreed to meet he noticed a woman approaching him and she was not at all what he had been expecting. Based on the gravelly voice he had heard over the phone he had expected someone older, perhaps physically not very fit. Instead, the woman was quite the vision in a proper red dress and matching pumps that put her long, pale legs on display. She wore a hat, glamorously tilted to one side, and big horn-rimmed sunglasses. Her gait was long and elegant. She glowed with confidence.

Letitia sat down next to him, very lady-like and well-mannered. She removed her sunglasses and hat, placing both in her lap.

"Miss Rose."

"Mister Maxwell," She retorted playfully and looked him up and down. She made an appreciative sound and remarked: "I would understand if mister Yuy does end up requesting you again. You are absolutely delicious." Suddenly her gravelly voice seemed to suit her anyway.

He chuckled at her forwardness, it alleviated much of the tension. "We were all hoping you could tell us a little more about mister Yuy."

"Honey, with what you boys are paying me for what little I know, I wished to God I knew more."

"At this point anything will be of help."

She started off with familiar stories of her employees going to meet him and being faced with the same kind of evening as the one Duo had shared with the billionaire. Most of them reported that he said extremely little, she recalled some even telling her he hadn't said a single word to them. In all cases the meetings took place in his office, Yuy was working and men paced back and forth between the office and the library. The billionaire was described as uninterested, aloof, curt and cold. The butler apologized every single time. Letitia confirmed his suspicion that no one had ever rejected the payment, but that they had tried about everything else to get his attention. One of them, she told with a laugh, had even stripped down to the buff right in front of Yuy. When the businessman finally took notice of the naked body standing at his desk he had matter-of-factly requested him to put his clothes back on, after which the butler came to escort him out of the house earlier than planned.

While Letitia had a way with telling stories and he found he was amused by her, the information had little to no value and certainly wasn't worth what they were paying her. Bluntly, he confronted her with this after about an hour.

She smirked. "Men, always in such a hurry to get to the good stuff…"

He rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay. I have something juicy that might be of help. You told Neil that if you knew what mister Yuy was looking for, you might stand a chance?"

"Yes."

"I have heard of someone who knows precisely what mister Yuy covets." She paused for dramatic effect.

Impatiently he waited for her to continue.

"As you know, mister Yuy asks me for someone new every single week. For the entire eight weeks that I've been in contact with him it has been that way. But I have been told that it didn't start out that way." After another infuriating pause she went on: "Mister Yuy has been in contact with agencies for a number of years now. When he was still with the very first agency, rumors are that he requested the company of the same male prostitute every time. As I understand it, this man was invited to the Yuy estate every week for as long as a year."

His interest was definitely piqued.

"No one knows why mister Yuy eventually lost interest in him and started asking for different men each time since then, but regardless, for him to get invited over every week for a year might mean that he has the answer to your question; What is mister Yuy looking for?"

"And you know where we can find him?"

"I don't know his real name, nor where he lives. He might have even left town. But I know his working name and the agency he worked for. If I tell you that, will I have earned my paycheck?" She inquired sweetly. She was a savvy lady who knew what she was doing.

It would be a challenge but perhaps the information would prove enough to find this man – given Neil's vast connections – and even though he must have eventually lost the 'it-factor' that Heero was looking for, he did, at one point, have it and it would be helpful to talk to him. He would almost certainly have a lot more information on Yuy and if not, then hopefully he would know some more details about the house. "Yes," He consented after careful deliberation.

"He had the name 'Calden Fox' and he worked for a Seth Ripley." She watched as he jotted it down in his notebook. "Now, Seth used to run a good business with a lot of high end clients. He has fallen from grace since then. But the good thing about hopeless types like Seth is that they are willing to do a lot of legwork for a fair price. He can help you find mister Fox."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I don't do legwork, honey. Not for all the money in the world." She smirked.

"Right. Happen to know where we can find Seth?"

"Sorry, I've earned my paycheck." She held out her manicured hand expectantly. "But I don't expect Neil will have any trouble tracking him down."

He took a hefty envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket and placed it in her awaiting hand.

She thanked him and tucked the package into her tiny purse. "It was nice doing business with you, mister Maxwell. I'll let you know if mister Yuy's people call, asking for you."

He nodded and then watched her strut off.

The news of this Calden Fox sparked hope. Even though Yuy might never call on Duo again, Calden had been to the mansion so many times that perhaps, if asked the right questions, he could give vital clues to the location of the safe, whether or not he actually knew where it was. If he was even half as observant as the con-artist – and considering he was a hustler he was bound to at least be streetwise – he might have picked up on something.

The midweek meeting with the other three was disappointing. Neil had reached out to his contact in Financial Security, the company that installed the safe, but he said there was no way of pinpointing who knew the details of the installation. They couldn't very well kidnap and torture the whole lot. It was a dead-end.

Angelica's endeavor also proved to be in vain. She wasn't surprised and she reminded them several times that while she was a 'technical-genius', there was a reason Yuy ran a multi-billion dollar conglomerate and she was just a crook, to put it crassly. She was still confident she could hack into the system from the inside of the house, but she couldn't access the closed loop security without directly plugging into it.

With a shrug of his shoulders J.J. confirmed what Duo had already guessed; that there was nothing to be learned from further watching Yuy, or rather: watching his car drive him back and forth between the two wildly different but equally impressive fortresses that were his office building and his house.

To add insult to injury, Letty hadn't contacted Duo nor Neil, meaning Yuy had yet to reach out to request him, if he ever would.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the Russian wondered: "Seth Ripley, you said?"

"Yeah… Does he happen to owe you a favor?"

"I've never really met him. When his business was a success and he was a somebody, I was jail. He was a nobody before the years I spent in prison and he made himself a nobody again by the time I got out. He was a fuck-up before, certainly not somebody worth knowing. I heard of his success through the grape vine, but I knew it was only a matter of time."

"So that's ten-thousand dollars' worth of dead end?" Duo chuckled bitterly, referring to the payment for miss Rose.

"Not necessarily. Somebody will know him and know where he is. Somebody always knows."

Duo had little faith. For Seth to have been such a doomed screw-up, he couldn't help but think nasty vices were involved. The kind of vices that could end up killing a man, especially a man who had nothing left to lose. He had known many people who inevitably drank or drugged themselves to death and most of them welcomed the escape.

Neil got up from his seat with a tired grunt. "Let's all go home and get some rest. You especially, Maxwell. We might still get the call."

Duo noted the lack of assurance in his tone of voice. "Yeah."

He took a cab home, searching all his pockets to scrape together enough money to pay the cabbie. He was short fifty cents but the driver said it was okay. Duo got the impression he was excused because the man was getting impatient with him and he wasn't going to waste his time for fifty cents.

He got the last beer from the fridge and sagged down into the cushions of the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee-table, his muddy boots resting on the issue of Forbes, with Yuy's cover face down. There was a stack of books precariously balanced on the seat next to his, which had nearly toppled over when he careless fell onto the couch. They were textbooks about modern art. He had given up all hope on connecting with Yuy through his technological interests, he had tried but the texts were like Chinese to him. He wasn't faring much better with the dry perspective on abstract art. No matter how many paragraphs the authors could use to describe a single work, he still saw the painted canvasses as infantile – as in: come on! A toddler could do that!

He didn't like the ambiguous nature of the paintings either. Most were left open to the interpretation of the viewer, but more often than not he felt that was a cop-out on the artist's behalf. He accused them of simply painting nonsense and then leaving all the creative work to the observer. The ones that did state clear subjects confused him no less, because he didn't see what he was apparently supposed to see – and how could he? There were just lines and blocks and dots! He even turned the books to look at some works from all angles, but he didn't see anything in them.

It pissed him off. As good as he was at reading people based on simple, cryptic features, the paintings were a complete mystery to him. The information eluding him reminded him of Yuy. He was supposed to be seeing something, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was really something to see, if there was really anything more to him than the superficial brushstrokes; genius, rich, anti-social. Never wears black clothes but appears to like the color black anyway…

He lit a cigarette and toyed with the end of his braid, gazing into thin air.

He had never been an ambitious man. He had never wished to partake in any big operations. He had never desired to have his skills be challenged in such a way. The fact that he had no choice in the particular matter agitated him endlessly. He had long ago rejected the common lifestyle of doing things because he had to. It was a way in which many people lived their lives, obeying a number of authoritative figures from youth to seniority, from work to home; the mother, the father, the boss, the police officer, the law-maker, the wife… Duo had never gotten along with any kind of authority but now the cards had been dealt in such a way that he had no choice. All thanks to J.J. As much as he loved his adoptive little brother, the entire situation cemented Duo's standing perspective on emotional attachment; that it was dangerous. It was path towards disappointment, no matter which turn you took, you would end up in the same place, you would end up hurt. With that philosophy in mind, he couldn't blame Yuy for limiting his social contact to the visit of one professional a week and always requesting a different one each time. If you let people get too close, they _will_ rob you of something, sooner, or later. WuFei had taken his heart. J.J. had stolen his freedom.

Wallowing in self-pity he killed time flipping between the four channels that his television set could properly receive, without static. He drank beer and he slept a lot. His cheap watch was left in a drawer in the bathroom. Every time he looked at the clock fear and panic gripped at his heart because time was passing by and he had still received no word about the next Friday. Until all of a sudden he realized it _was_ Friday. It was four o'clock, he noticed in the news reel, and it appeared highly unlikely the call would come, regardless, he showered and got dressed – picking his outfit with equal care as last time – and he waited.

Hours later, when the phone rang, his heart jumped into his throat and he had to swallow it back down. He clamored over the back of the couch to reach for the phone. "Yeah?"

There was a sigh, it crackled as it came through the line.

 _Fuck_.

"It's ten past eight," Neil announced. "Letty just called. She has sent a new guy."

 _Fuck_.

Neil heaved another sigh, also not knowing what to say.

"Any word on Seth? On Calden?" He questioned desperately.

"Nothing."

Well… _Fuck_. Even through the phone Duo could tell the would-be general had to refrain himself from yelling at him in anger. He knew Neil blamed him for the failure, the man was probably more convinced than ever that he should have had Duo apply for that position as assistant gardener. Duo was still certain he had made the right call, or the best call, at least, but he understood and accepted Neil's indignation. He felt compelled to apologize, so he did. It was a mistake, the single, however genuine, word popped the fragile balloon that contained Neil's fury, like the prick of a needle.

"You screwed up, Maxwell! I should have never trusted you! I was going to be a general! I was going to be set for life! Now, my life is over! If Tsubarov decides not to have me executed, it will only be because working me to death will give him more satisfaction! I will be a bottom-feeding lowlife!"

"I was a bottom-feeding lowlife and I was perfectly content with that!" He shouted in return. "I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't want to work for Tsubarov, but you did, you made that choice! So don't fucking lay this on me. When you make your bed with people like that you are going to get _fucked,_ whether you like it or not."

The line was disconnected abruptly. He stared at the phone, fury bubbled inside him like magma and if the pressure would build any higher he would explode; and it would be even uglier than the lava he had already spewed. With shaking hands he put the phone away, barely able to refrain himself from chucking it against the wall like he had with the answering machine. If only he could disappear into himself and simply cease to exist. He stalked back to the coffee table and grabbed the magazine. He glared at the cover, but it didn't satisfy his rage. Like a mad man he started to scream at the two-dimensional image until eventually he settled for ripping the paper to pieces, tearing right through Yuy, who still seemed as unimpressed by his anger as he had been unimpressed with everything else about him.

He realized, mortified at his unexpected arrogance, that he was actually insulted that Yuy hadn't liked him. He wasn't good enough, or so the entitled billionaire had concluded. That hurt his feelings, his vain, despicable feelings. How could Yuy make a judgment like that? Just discard him like that? As if the man himself was such a prize! Who could stand to be around someone like that? Who would want to be around that kind of barren personality? It wasn't fair that Yuy was in the position to throw people out, because if the roles were reversed, every single one of those hustlers he rejected would throw _him_ out without any scrupulous. Just because he was rich, he got to play a TV talent show judge and press the red button at every performance? What made him qualified to decide who was worthy?

Once the anger had subsided after running rampant for a while, he was relieved. He was relieved he would not have to be around that. He was relieved he didn't have to worry about what was expected of him if he had made it through the first round; if the second time he was expected to perform sexual acts.

But to complete the rollercoaster of emotions he circled right back to fear. The planned con hadn't been a simple, straightforward solution to his problem, but it had been the only solution. He had been so overly confident that – in spite of everything – they would be able to pull it off, he had inadvertently raised a debt of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars to an even more insurmountable five million. He had let J.J. hit rock bottom and in his valiant attempt to tunnel them out, all he had achieved was get them deeper, get them closer to the hearth of Hell.

He fell back down into the seat of his couch and stared at the jigsaw of pieces of paper; a mess much like his life; no amount of patience and tape could fix it. It was ruined. J.J. would get executed and Duo might too, which would be a kinder fate than working for Tsubarov for the rest of his miserable life – that exact fact made him worry the drug lord would prefer to keep him alive, to take pleasure in watching him squirm and suffer.

To buy them all more time they fooled The Bear into thinking Yuy didn't invite someone over every week. Calden Fox was their last hope and they had to find him, but they all knew they wouldn't be given the chance if they confessed the truth to Tsubarov's guard dog. Although Duo feared The Bear was more perceptive than he let on. Sometimes he would catch him looking at him with a glint in his eye that made Duo worry The Bear knew they had failed and were scrambling to save their asses and he allowed them only because the sight of them running around amused him.

They had arranged another meeting without The Bear on Thursday evening. Neil and Angelica were arguing about something. J.J. was curled up on the floor in a corner, passed out – he had been self-medicating more than ever that week, it had started to dawn on him that his luck had run out. Duo stood at the window and looked at the lights of Corbeau Park. There were always lights on at the Yuy estate, the house was probably never empty. How did you even rob a place that was never without supervision?

He was jostled awake by a buzzing to his left. Neil's phone lay on the desk and was vibrating rhythmically. The Russian didn't notice, too caught up in his discussion with the feisty Latina who wouldn't give in.

"Neil," The conman called. "Neil!"

"What?!"

Duo nodded at the phone.

"Oh… thanks."

"Yeah, sure, walk away," Angelica muttered, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "We were done anyway." She exchanged a meaningful look with Duo.

Neil answered his phone, only stating his name curtly by way of greeting.

Angelica joined the American at the window. "I don't mean to be insensitive," She started, "But this operation is over. At this point, it is a waste of my time."

Duo nodded. He understood. Angelica wasn't in as deep as the rest of them, she could probably still walk away and he couldn't blame her for wanting out.

"Look, this gig would have been amazing. But it's not happening and I got bills to pay, you know? I got a call about something else. I think I should take that job."

He looked at her sympathetically. "I think you should too."

She smiled sadly in return.

"Anything J.J. and I could get in on?" He asked jokingly.

"It wouldn't help you. It doesn't pay like this job would have. Nothing pays like this job would have." She sighed.

Duo flinched when a big hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. He looked back at Neil and frowned at his odd expression, he didn't know what to make of it.

"I hope you haven't made any plans for tomorrow."

Duo's eyebrow quirked but he didn't dare to hope. "Free as a bird."

"Letty just got a call from the butler. It appears Yuy was disappointed by last week's company and the butler suggested that he should give _you_ another try. And he agreed."

Angelica's jaw dropped.

Neil let a smile spread across his lips. "Maxwell, you have another date with Yuy tomorrow."

The woman squealed with excitement, so loudly that J.J. shot into an upright position with a tired, confused frown. "We're in! We're in!"

Duo cocked his head to look at her. "I guess this means you won't be taking that other job?"

"Fuck that! Like I said, nothing pays like this gig."

Duo nodded, his excitement and relief dulled considerably by concern. It was hardly a knock-out, it was only the second round, but at least he still had a fighting chance.

Bring it on, Yuy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Six**

The gate opened just enough for Duo to be able to slip through. Immediately a guard was all over him, frisking him and stating the house-rules. When Duo did what he was told and turned around to be fully searched, the guard paused and uttered dumbly: "You've been here before."

"Yeah." Duo realized the man had recognized his braid and given his boss' track record he wasn't used to any repeat visitors. He looked over his shoulder and asked impatiently: "Are you done?"

"Come on," The big man grumbled and he grabbed him by his upper arm and took him through the yard and through the house, taking the same route as before. In the grand foyer the longhaired man was handed over to the grey-haired butler, who had been waiting for him. The guard was dismissed and he left quietly.

The butler looked him over and reached out to straighten Duo's collar.

"So uh… I've been told I owe you," Duo started, stiffly standing still as the man appraised and adjusted his appearance.

"You don't owe me anything. Just don't make a fool of me for suggesting you."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt kind of bad, knowing the butler might get blamed once the plan had fully unfolded and the master had been robbed. "About that… Why _did_ you suggest me? It seemed pretty clear to me your boss wasn't very impressed."

"My master is so preoccupied he easily misses it when something good is right in front of him."

"Look," Duo shook his head, "Just because I refused payment doesn't mean I'm anything good."

"We'll see." He gestured for Duo to step into the 'waiting room', connected to Yuy's home office.

The younger man obliged, but in the door opening he turned around and inquired: "What was your name again? Because I could have sworn it was 'Karen', but that can't be right."

"My name is Carran Gerard," The butler supplied. At the puzzled expression from the other he bothered to spell out his first name.

"Ah, alright. Mind if I call you Gerry?" Duo winked at him, hoping to establish some kind of rapport with the man who seemed closest to his target. Carran had unknowingly helped him out once already, befriending him could aid his mission further down the line as well.

"You can call me whatever you like, sir."

"Can I call you Barbara?"

"Although I do not see why you would call me that, as master Yuy's personal servant it is not my place to dictate what his guests call me," Replied the man cordially.

"Don't worry, I'll stick to Gerry."

"I'm overjoyed," Was the dry retort and then he ushered Duo into the room and informed him 'master Yuy' would be arriving shortly.

"Thanks." Once the door was closed and he was left alone he rolled his eyes. He had to wait for Yuy to show up again? For the second time he couldn't be bothered to be home in time to welcome his guest? Why was Yuy wasting money on this? He obviously didn't actually care about the acquired companionship, or he'd make more of an effort to enjoy it to the fullest; and get his money's worth.

He didn't take a seat, he was far too restless. He could be fired just as easily as he had been rehired, so he was as nervous as last time, or even more so because now he knew how impenetrable his target was. Deep in thought, he paced back and forth. All week he had been watching the news and reading the economy section of the newspaper, educating himself on recent topics so he could initiate and maintain some kind of conversation with the man, but his nerves jumbled up the information. His face started getting red as he realized he couldn't recall which company had gone bankrupt and which company signed a government contract that week. The names got mixed up. And what was the name of the CEO of that steel company? The one who had been impeached on account of embezzlement? And was the new district attorney, Prentice Adal, a woman or a man? What kind of name was 'Prentice'? Couldn't it have been David or Ashley? The article had included a picture, but honestly, it was still anybody's guess.

The front door was opened and Yuy was greeted by Gerry the butler. Instinctively Duo pulled his braid over his shoulder and anxiously toyed with the end. He let go of the handful of hair just in time, before he would embarrass himself. Yuy came bursting through the door and didn't even look at him as he headed straight for his office. The American was left standing there, arms uselessly at his sides.

The old butler nodded at the open door of the office and urged him to head inside. After some hesitation he trusted the butler's judgment that the open door was an invitation and he supposed he shouldn't have expected any more from the stuck-up billionaire.

He watched Yuy place his suitcase on his desk and switch on his computer. The suit-of-the-day was dark blue with a white shirt and white tie. The fit was the same as always: perfection. As much as he wanted to resent the man out of principle and deny there was anything positive to say about him, the billionaire was exceptionally good-looking and he certainly knew how to dress himself to accentuate that. In those tailored slacks he had legs for days, a high ass and a tight waist. Still, Duo decided while he quietly observed the man, he wasn't attractive. Not to Duo at least. His physical beauty was undeniable but calculated, like his facial features were the result of a mathematical formula; there was symmetry and beauty but no personality, no individuality. He was more Mattel's Ken than Michelangelo's David.

Never mind that Duo used to have a major thing for Ken dolls.

Say something! His mind supplied. "Hi, again."

The businessman looked up, as if surprised by his presence. "Good evening."

Words! This is going well! He thought to himself sarcastically.

Gerry came in with his master's coffee and this time Duo accepted his offer when he asked if he would like some too. As the butler poured him a tiny cup, the American suddenly felt compelled to fill the silence and what came out of his lips was an awkward joke. "Hey, is this coffee made from those beans that a cat first has to poop out?"

Both Gerry and Yuy paused what they were doing and stared at him.

He cleared his throat, looked away and took a tiny sip, wishing he could disappear into the tiny cup.

Gerry bowed and then excused himself, backing out of the room. It irked Duo how the old man was forced to behave around his 'master'. If making an elderly man act as your slave was the ultimate measure of wealth and sophistication than Duo felt less shame for being a slum dog all of his life. At least where he had been raised the elderly were treated with the respect they were due. Yuy should learn to fetch his own goddamn coffee. He took another sip. It was good coffee though.

The man set to work as before, leaving Duo to entertain himself. Once he was done with his coffee he put the empty cup away and with his hands folded on the small of his back he started walking around the office, stopping by the windows to look out into the stone courtyard with the illuminated fountain at the center. He could see a balcony lining the entire courtyard on the second floor. It started to truly dawn on him how enormous the estate was and how little the safe was in comparison. Taking into consideration that it could be hidden in any wall or under the floor, it could be anywhere. He pivoted on his heels and focused his attention on the décor of the office. Of all the rooms in the mansion, surely Yuy's office would be the most logical place to hide his safe. There could be a secret mechanism that could move the bookcase right behind the desk, or it could be hidden behind any of the square, wooden panels that clad the walls, or it was hidden behind a painting; always a classic. His gaze landed on the painting above the black leather couch and a deep frown formed on his face.

It was a different painting from before. The painting with the looming shadows had been replaced by a monochromatic, cubistic work. He smiled at himself, that book he ' _borrowed_ ' from the library about art history was really paying off. "You changed the painting," He pointed out. He looked at Yuy and waited for a response.

There was a slight delay, but then the man looked up, first at Duo and then at the painting. "Yes."

"Why?"

His blue eyes were cold and unreadable. "I didn't like it anymore." His gaze shifted, back to the screen of his laptop.

"Oh?" Duo wondered if he had stopped liking it because of something he had said about it two weeks ago, but he shook his head. There was no way a man like Yuy would let himself be influenced by someone he believed to be a common whore. "I like this one better." It was the truth. The previous painting he associated with the degradation he had been faced with his entire life, the current painting evoked nothing. It vaguely resembled a person, in a Picasso kind of way and he supposed it was very interesting, academically, but it looked bland. If anything, it bored him. He could understand why Yuy liked it, it was just like him in that regard: studied but uninspired. "Do you have any other hobbies? Besides collecting paintings?" He tried.

There was no response.

"Do you paint?" Duo narrowed his eyes when his question seemed to cause the man to tighten his fingers around his pen. The man paints, Duo concluded, but clearly it was not so much a hobby as a frustration to him. The analytical golden boy probably hadn't been able to master the skill, which must displease him endlessly. Tabling the subject for later, he continued: "What about sports? Do you play sports? You must work out, with a body like that."

Yuy's gaze dashed up at him. There was no modesty, only surprise at the change of subject. "Yes, I work out."

There had been a question and then there was an answer. It was almost like a conversation! "What do you do? Do you swim? You have a big-ass pool." Duo was visibly disappointed when the businessman looked down at his papers again, disconnecting from the interaction. Trying not to let himself be deterred he went on boldly: "Personally, I like a game of ice-hockey best. Or soccer in summer. That's not a very American type of sports, but all you need to play is a ball. Hell, any kind of round object will do, when times are tough enough. When I was a kid, we used to steal stones right out of the pavement in our streets and use them to mark the goals in this field where they were going to build a mini-mall but then the contractor went bankrupt-" He fell silent. Yuy had tuned him out, reading a document and scribbling his signature at the bottom of every page.

He spent the next two hours on the uncomfortable leather couch. He cringed every time he heard the other man punch the keys of his keyboard and even the sound of his fountain-pen scraping the paper angered him –it created the exact same sound every time because all he ever did that night was sign his name and after a while it was like an annoying jingle that kept repeating itself.

Even though he should have been worried that his time for the evening had been up when Gerry appeared in the doorway, he was only relieved and he couldn't leave fast enough. He was about to follow the man out of the office when Yuy called his name; the sound curt, his voice deep. He froze. Honestly he had expected him to have forgotten his name. He turned around and was a little unnerved by the man's stare.

"I'll see you next week," He asserted.

All the American could do was nod and then he shuffled after Gerry, who closed the door behind him. It was good news that he was invited over for next week, it meant Angelica hadn't been premature with her conclusion when she said they were 'in'. But the way the Japanese man had said it, rubbed him the wrong way. It hadn't been a request, it was an announcement, like Duo had no say in the matter. The fact that that was accurate – he really didn't have a choice – was probably what bothered him so much about it.

They stood by the orchid in the middle of the foyer again. Gerry held out a white envelope wordlessly.

Duo bit his lip and he took the envelope. It would be phony to refuse payment again, but he was deeply troubled. He was leaving without leaving any kind of lasting impression. What would stop Yuy from canceling halfway into the week?

"I understand," Said Gerry. "I didn't expect you to not want to be paid again. Neither did master Yuy. You should be paid for your time."

"Thanks." He folded the envelope in half and stuffed it in the back pocket of his grey jeans.

The same guard from before appeared and he was escorted off the premises again.

Around the corner, Neil was waiting for him in his black SUV. He ripped open the door of the passenger seat and climbed inside. He flinched when there was suddenly a hand in front of his face, but he let out a grateful sigh and took the cigarette that was offered to him. Following soon after was his silver zippo lighter that he had given to Neil to keep safe while he went into the lion's den.

"How many words this time?" The would-be general asked him after his first drag.

He let out a bitter chuckle. "For now we're good, I think. He did say he wanted to see me again next week." He chewed on the inside of his cheek, recalling Yuy hadn't really said he _wanted_ to see him, just that he would.

"Well, that's good!" Neil exclaimed excitedly.

"Yeah."

"See? We're making progress. You'll be braiding each other's hair in no time," He laughed heartedly. "I just realized, that is extra funny because you actually have a braid."

"It's hilarious." He took another drag. "I'm laughing on the inside, where it counts."

"Yeah yeah…" He started the engine and drove them out of Corbeau Park, dropping Duo off on the corner of his street in a decidedly more shady part of town. At home he rid himself of his grey jeans and his purple shirt and rebelliously put together an all-black outfit. He wondered what would happen if he showed up to the Yuy residence in all black, but it was too early to try such a tactic, although the man's reaction, whatever it would be, might yield some useful information. He dumped the clothes in the laundry bin. After having two smokes in the car he had to wash them if he wanted to wear them again on a Friday night. He slammed the lid of the hamper shut but then he remembered: there was two thousand dollars in the back pocket of his jeans. He fished out the envelope and carried it to the kitchen. He toyed with the edge of the sealed envelope and he weighed it in his hands. The amount consisted of large bills, or else it would have been much thicker and heavier. In the end he discarded the envelope on the kitchen table and got a beer from the fridge. Before J.J. had made the biggest mistake of his life, two thousand dollars was a lot of money to Duo. Now that they were collectively five million dollars in the hole – perhaps that had been the biggest mistake on Duo's part – two grand was nothing and he couldn't care less. He should probably give it to Neil, to invest in the mission.

He dropped down onto the couch, the springs in the cushions creaking and he mindlessly flipped through the channels.

Half an hour later there was a knock on his door and Duo threw his head back and groaned. Unenthusiastically he got up to unlock and unbolt the door.

J.J. bounced into his apartment, high on something. "How did it go?"

"Marvelous. We've exchanged friendship bracelets and played hide and seek."

"Jeez, you're in a mood. Mind if I get a beer too?"

Duo shrugged and sat down again, slouching in his seat to the point where his knees touched the coffee table.

"What's this?"

He looked over and saw J.J. inspecting the crisp, white envelope curiously. "It's my fee." He was disgusted at himself.

"Cool." Without asking for permission he ripped it open and the money fell out, onto the table and onto the floor. "Dude!" He exclaimed as he collected the bills. "This is like… two grand!" He was beaming.

"I know. Go give it to Tsubarov, I'm sure he'll consider our debt paid."

"Come one, bro! This is cause for celebration! We should go out! I'll take you to this really nice strip club-" He scrunched up his face. "Oh, right, you don't like titties. I guess… I guess we could go to a gay strip club…" He made a displeased face.

"We're not spending that money on strippers – male nor female. We're not spending it on drugs or booze either. I should have given it to Neil right away."

J.J. sputtered. "Why would you do that? You said it yourself: it's _your_ fee!"

Duo jumped up from the couch, stormed over to his little brother and snatched the money and the envelope from his greedy hands. "It's going to Neil. That's the end of it. I'm not going to let you snort yourself to death with my whore-money." He stuffed the bills back into the envelope and slammed it down on the table.

"Fine. No need to get your panties in a twist," J.J. muttered, taking an innocent sip from the bottle of beer.

Grumbling under his breath he walked back to the couch.

"So, seriously, how did it go with mister Billionaire?"

"He's a conceited stiff who needs a good ass-whooping."

"Or ass-fucking." J.J, giggled at himself.

A grin tugged at the older one's lips. "Yeah, or maybe that." He got his pack of cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket.

"I thought you were going to quit."

"Only between my Friday afternoon shower and the end of my 'date'. I'm not going to suffer through this for the next couple of months without some nicotine to take the edge off."

"Can I bum a smoke?"

"You bum everything else, so I suppose why not." Once he had lit his cigarette he threw the pack and the lighter towards J.J.

The young man put one cigarette between his lips and lit it and another he tucked behind his ear. He put the things away on the kitchen table. "What about next Friday? What's going to happen?"

"Mister Yuy already extended an invitation."

"Great." He wandered around the small apartment for a while and then continued: "So what's he like? Is he hot?" He winked.

"Yeah, I guess he's hot. If you're into that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

Duo shrugged. "The whole… perfectly symmetrical, exotic beauty thing he has going on." He made vague gestures in the air with his cigarette.

"Yeah, that's sounds like a real bore," J.J. deadpanned. "When someone describes a chick like that, I'd be all over that piece of ass."

"Charming."

"Speaking of ass, I gotta bounce. The night is still young." He reached his hand out for the doorknob, "You sure you don't want to come?"

"Positive." He stared at the muted television set and then called out as an afterthought: "J.J.?!"

The young man poked his head back inside. "Yeah?"

"Take it easy, alright?"

He snorted. "What's the fun in that?"

"J.J.," He warned. "You're part of this team. If Neil calls you up tomorrow with some sort of chore, you can't be hung-over… or dead. Everyone needs to do their part and earn their paycheck."

"Sure thing, boss." He bared his yellow teeth in a grin.

"I'm not the boss, little brother. Neil is the boss. And he's not going to let you get away with the shit you pull."

"Yeah, yeah… Thanks, mom!" He pulled the door shut.

"Little asshole." He started flipping through the channels again and paused at a news program, although he wasn't sure if his homework would ever pay off. Yuy proved to be a difficult guy to engage in conversation. Even researching the things he appeared to be interested in wasn't paying off. Lazily he reached for the book of art history and he skipped ahead to the chapter about Cubism. But Duo was nothing other than an unrefined punk and he found nothing redeemable about modern, abstract art, no matter how hard he tried. He had to explore more of the mansion, perhaps the master of the house had more hobbies to be revealed, something Duo could connect with.

With an exasperated sigh he switched off the TV and pushed himself up on his feet. He turned off lights as he headed in the direction of his bed and stripped as he went, ending up at his bedside in just his boxers. He tumbled forward onto the mattress and wrapped himself up in his sheets. Trying to befriend an asshole like Yuy was exhausting.

The week went by quickly, even with Neil breathing down his neck. Somehow, the Russian couldn't understand that Duo couldn't figure out more about the reclusive billionaire after having spent two entire evening together. He tried to explain that when someone spoke and emoted as little as the businessman, he had nothing to go by. Neil seemed to be expecting nothing short of actual magic, he even appeared disappointed the American hadn't yet figured out where Yuy was hiding his safe.

He was dropped off around the corner, J.J. wished him luck from the back seat. He headed through the gate, he was searched upon entry and the guard handed him over to Gerry-the-butler in the grand foyer, who in turn deposited him in the waiting room. He was offered nothing to drink or eat as he waited for the master.

Impatiently he circled the furniture, until his legs got tired and he took a seat, boldly propping his feet up on the mahogany coffee table. There was no clock and he wasn't the watch-wearing type, so he had no concept of time, but judging by the state of his boredom, Yuy made him wait longer than usual.

He clicked his tongue and drummed the beat of a popular pop song on the armrest with his fingers. It was taking too long. He was becoming increasingly more aggravated and at a certain point he snapped and jumped up from his seat. He opened the massive door heading back into the foyer and he waited in the hollow space carved out of white marble. "Hello?"

There was no response.

He wasn't allowed to wander around the house, he wasn't allowed to leave the 'designated area', but he figured Yuy had kept him waiting for over an hour and such rudeness surely excused a breach of contract. He approached the orchid in the center of the room and noticed the camera mounted discretely on the wall.

Looking up at the chandelier – curtains of crystals delicately draping down from the two story ceiling – he called out again: "Hello?" Going upstairs would be too brazen, he thought to himself and he decided to head through the door beneath where the twin staircases met. This opening took him back into stretching hallway where he had come from. If he went left he could follow the route the guard always took him by. But there was also an entire stretch of the gallery heading right and the unexplored territory appealed to him much more. Duo took all but three steps to the right when a door was pushed open and Gerry appeared. The older man didn't say anything, but he looked angry and he took hold of Duo's arm – arguably even more strongly than the guards did – and he pulled him back to the waiting room.

"Certainly you are sufficiently intelligent to understand simple direction," He seethed. "You have been explicitly told not to leave this room."

"What was I supposed to do? How long is he going to keep me waiting?"

"I don't know, but you get paid for three hours of your time. If master Yuy happens to only show up for the last ten minutes of it, than that is his prerogative."

Duo made a face. "Because he's paying he gets to treat me like this?"

"You could be treated a lot worse. Master Yuy is a fair employer."

"This is _not_ fair!"

"You will wait here until master Yuy arrives or until the three hours are up. Whichever comes first."

He put his hands on his hips. "Hold on!" He called when the butler moved away. "Can't you call him or something? Ask him when he expects to be home?"

"I do not bother master Yuy at the office with anything other than a clear emergency," He stated definitively and he slammed the door shut.

"Fucking hell." He buried his hands in his hair.

Time crept by at an agonizing pace. He worried if people could actually be bored to death – if so, the evening counted as near-death experience for him. His life flashed before his eyes but unfortunately it was a disappointing short film that didn't distract him from the mind-numbing lack of mental stimulation for too long.

Although he was pretty sure the stylish arrangement of fruit on the coffee table was not strictly meant for consumption he grabbed one of the oranges and peeled it, purposefully making a mess to passively-aggressively express his dismay. He popped piece after piece into his mouth.

The door opened and he flung himself into an upright position.

He glared at Gerry.

"It's time," Said the butler.

With a groan he got up and followed him into the foyer where he received his payment and was escorted outside again by the guard. Once he was practically thrown off the property he couldn't contain his rage. He screamed and kicked the brick wall lining the premises. All that had achieved was a throbbing pain in his big toe. He walked around the corner and climbed into the awaiting SUV. "Give me a cigarette! Right now! Right now!"

"Okay, okay!" Neil fumbled to shake a smoke from the pack and handed it and his lighter to him.

"Fucking asshole!" He yelled, struggling to light his cigarette. His hands were shaking, that was how angry he was. "This piece of shit is unbelievable!"

"What happened?" Asked J.J. from the backseat.

"Nothing! Absolutely, fucking nothing! He didn't show up!"

"What?"

"He's still at the office! I've been cooped up by myself in this suffocating room where the forests of the world have all come to die at the altar of 'rustic design'!" He finally managed to light his cigarette and he inhaled the smoke deeply. "Fuck!" He added for good measure.

"Calm down. It will be better next time," Neil tried.

"Fuck this! I can't do this. I can't do this, Neil!" He turned sideways in his seat to face him. "I've been a street-rat my entire life but I've never let someone treat me like this."

"Well-" Someone started in the backseat.

"Shut up, J.J.!"

Neil raised his hands and attempted to calm him. "I'm going to take you home. Get some sleep. I understand your anger, but you're missing the big picture here. Quitting is not an option."

He seethed quietly while Neil drove him back to his apartment. J.J. got out of the car with him and said goodnight to Neil before shutting the car door and coming to stand next to his big brother on the pavement. "You forgot to give Neil the money again."

"I didn't forget." He produced the envelope from his pocket, ripped it open and counted the bills. He threw the empty envelope onto the street and stuffed the cash into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Let's go," He said and he started walking down the street. "Let's waste some of my hard-earned money."

J.J. happily skipped after him.

A few blocks over, in a more decent part of town, the two of them managed to hail a cab and J.J. giggled with excitement when Duo gave the driver the address for that strip club he had mentioned the previous week. The bouncer at the door was initially apprehensive about letting them in, but he held the door open once Duo had discretely handed him some money. They were taken to the VIP section and Duo ordered a bottle of champagne priced at four hundred dollars. The exotic dancer on the stage gyrated her toned body against the platinum stripper pole and didn't do much else, but J.J. certainly appeared impressed by her. He couldn't take his eyes off her and at one point tipped her with one of the hundred-dollar bills. She had smiled at him and left to be replaced with a darker girl who seemed more skilled. J.J. turned his head to look at his big brother, reclined on the red, leather couch, and told him goofily: "I feel like a fucking rock star."

Duo kept him company for some time and actually enjoyed watching the girl dance and maneuver around the pole. She was very athletic and he appreciated that, regardless of his sexual orientation. After about an hour he handed J.J. most of the money that was left, keeping only a hundred to himself.

"What are you doing?" When Duo got up he rephrased: "Where are you going?"

"Call your friends. Have a good time. I'm going to Genesis." Without much ado he pulled the curtain aside and left J.J. alone in the private area of the club, trusting he knew how to amuse himself with over a thousand dollars, at a strip club. He knew it was potentially dangerous to leave the young man with that kind of money, considering his drug dependency, but Duo wanted him to enjoy the night. He had lost all hope that he could fulfil his part of the heist successfully and without him able to glean the location of the safe, everything would fail and Tsubarov would gladly take the naïve kid's head and work Duo to the bone. With such a fate ahead of him, he was pressed to enjoy himself as well.

Gay dance club Genesis was within walking distance from the strip club. He could hear the booming music of a dance track as he approached. There was a long line outside the door but he hadn't brought that hundred-dollar bill without reason. The men waiting in line were leering and sneering at him when he walked right by them and handed the burly bouncer the money. Obviously, he was let inside without delay.

The décor had changed since his last visit, he noted and on the heels of that realization was the question: when had he been there last? It had been a long time ago. So long that he suddenly felt very old. Scraping together one-dollar bills from his wallet he bought himself a stiff drink at the bar and once he had downed his drink the sympathetic bartender poured him a free refill, complete with a wink.

Ten minutes later, during the bartender's short break, the two of them stumbled outside into the alley lining the back of the building. Duo was pressed back against the wall as he was kissed hungrily and he swore he could feel the bricks vibrate to the beat of the music. The guy – whose name he failed to catch – was groping his ass greedily.

Not this time, the braided man thought to himself. He turned them around, pressing the other up against the wall. He groaned and made no objections. With a smirk he focused the attention of his hands on the front of Duo's jeans.

Duo paused to look at his face in the streetlight. Another bartender, he thought to himself. Was he as hot as his ex? No. Was he as beautiful as Yuy? Definitely not. But the relationship wouldn't last long enough for the stranger to hurt him and at least this guy showed interest in him and didn't ignore him. That would have to be good enough. With a demanding hand on his hip he had the guy turn around and he pulled both their jeans down just far enough. He paused to take a condom out of his pocket and put it on. He spit in his hands and rubbed the wetness between the two ass cheeks. Then, unceremoniously, he thrust inside and started to fuck him.

After only one minute the bartender looked over his shoulder and said between groans: "Hurry up, my break's almost over and I still have to smoke."

Duo growled and pushed his face back against the brick wall but he obliged and fucked him harder to take them both over the edge. As soon as it was over he stepped back, pulled the condom off his dick – tossing the piece of latex onto the ground – and tucked himself back into his pants.

"You have a light?" The bartender asked dryly.

Without a word he produced his zippo from his back pocket and lit the cigarette between the man's lips.

"Thanks. Aren't you going to smoke?"

"Not now." He pocketed the lighted and ripped the emergency door open, going back inside.

Flirting at the bar paid off for the second time when a man bought him another drink and after finishing the shot he excused himself and he went home.

The loveless sex wasn't really his thing, but when love has been such a constant disappointment, a boy has to make do. Safe sex wasn't just about rubber on your dick, it was about concrete around your heart.

He fell asleep on the couch. His face was stuck to the leather seat the next morning when he was woken up by a persistent fist rapping on his door. He wiped a trail of saliva off his chin with the back of his hand and looked around, for a moment his surroundings confused him. The view from his bed was entirely different and it had been a long time since he last woke up on the uncomfortable couch. With a groan he sat upright and he ran his hands through his hair.

"I'm coming!" He shouted. His legs felt like lead as he got up and staggered towards the door, expecting it to be J.J. on the other side. "Neil," He stated dumbly, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

The Russian man stormed into the apartment uninvited.

"What-? Is something wrong?" He closed the door, leaning back against it heavily. He was dizzy and he suffered a splitting headache.

"I figured we should have a little talk, based on your discouragement last night." Neil looked around, staring at the second-hand couch, the scratched coffee table, the mismatched kitchen cabinets and the unmade bed. "This place is a dump."

"Thanks." Duo was fully aware of that fact, but he had still been proud when he had been able to rent it, without resorting to selling out and working for the likes of Tsubarov and without having to sell his body. Things had changed.

"I need you to keep your focus. Keep your eye on the prize. Don't let Yuy's behavior discourage you. It's going to get better. You can get him to open up."

"Thanks for the pep talk… but since out of the two of us _I_ was hired for my ability to read people, let me spell this out for you: Yuy is never going to trust me." Duo pushed off the wall and headed for the fridge for a bottle of cool water to soothe his headache.

"Don't do this, Duo."

He took a swig from the bottle, ignoring Neil's plea.

"We're _all_ up shit-creek if you quit. The Bear will gladly serve Tsubarov our heads on a silver platter."

"We've been up shit-creek all along!" Duo yelled in return. "We were just too stupid to realize it!"

"You can do it," Neil insisted. "You read me like an open book. How is Yuy any different?"

"He's not giving me anything to work with! Look, picture it this way, there is a fifteen foot wall between me and this guy and I have to get over to his side. To be able to do that, I need him to throw me a line, something I can really hold on to. But I'm holding onto nothing but a thread. It's not enough!" He gestured wildly.

"You did it with me!"

He snorted. "Please, you didn't put up a wall so much as a picket fence and you practically gave me a step-ladder to get over it."

Neil made a face.

"You're cards were on the table. And I know guys like you, I know how to read your hand. Yuy… fuck, he has no cards! He is not even playing this game! He's not from our world, he doesn't live by our rules. I don't understand guys like this and I don't know how to act around him to get something out of him, because I don't belong there."

Neil sighed and looked away, clearly disappointed.

"I'm sorry," The American offered genuinely. "I thought I was the right guy for the job. But I was wrong."

"When I hired you I didn't think I was hiring a quitter," He spat.

"You think I _want_ to quit? You think I want to give up? Have you forgotten what is at stake for me? For J.J.?"

"No! Have _you_?!"

Duo reeled back.

The Russian walked up to him and pointed his index finger at his chest angrily. "You think long and hard about what you're giving up on exactly." After besieging Duo with an intense glare for a number of heartbeats, he walked out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Fuck!" He was angry mostly because he knew Neil was right. He couldn't give up. Giving up was a death sentence for J.J. But that Friday night had been the most infuriating night of his life and the thought that he would keep having to put himself through that was draining the life out of him in and of itself. It was the most degrading thing he had ever had to do; to have an entitled asshole like Yuy treat him like a worthless piece of shit. How was he supposed to consolidate that with the last shreds of pride he had left in him? The truth was, there was no more room for pride, or even dignity. If he wanted to keep J.J. alive he had to keep fighting; he had to keep taking these punches in the gut, even though he had a feeling the fight was rigger anyway and he never stood a chance.

Without the two of communicating for the rest of week, Neil's SUV showed up beneath Duo's window on the next Friday night, right on schedule. He knew Duo would change his mind.

Duo put his hand against the wall as he looked down at the idling vehicle. He felt sick to his stomach. He smoothed his black, silk shirt over his abdomen, trying to ease the nausea away. He took one last breath and then he headed downstairs.

He opened the door and took his seat.

Neil didn't say anything as he drove off.

J.J. popped up from the back seat. He was unbeknownst to the tension and the fight the two men in the front of the car had had. "You're wearing black." He pointed out.

"Yeah."

"I thought you said mister Fantastic didn't like black."

"He doesn't." He frowned. "Or at least, I think he doesn't."

Neil glanced at him. "You aren't purposefully sabotaging this, are you?"

"I'm not sabotaging anything," He snarled in reply. "I'm trying to provoke him. I can't seem to get any useful information out of him trying to please him, maybe I can get something out of him by displeasing him."

"It's your call."

"It is my call. And I'm not a quitter."

"Uhm," J.J. interjected. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," The two of them replied in unison.

The unpleasant Friday night ritual repeated itself for the fourth time. He was dropped off around the corner. The guards opened the gate for him – just a little. He was frisked and the rules were drilled into him once more. He was taken by the arm and led through the house and was handed over to the butler who walked him into the waiting room.

"Hey, Gerry, wait up!" He called before the man could exit the room. "I'm sorry about last time. About wandering around and about being a dick. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"You didn't get me in trouble. You nearly got yourself in trouble." That was all he said on the matter. He bowed politely and closed the door.

Duo sat down. This time he had borrowed Neil's watch and he monitored the passing of time closely.

Hope was sparked when Yuy was only twenty minutes late.

He walked into the room, didn't acknowledge Duo in any way, opened the door to his office and headed straight for his desk.

Hope died.

Duo dragged his feet following the master into his home office. Gerry came with coffee for the both of them. Once the butler had excused himself Duo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even say anything Yuy raised a finger in the air, effectively silencing him. The man glared in his direction, like he was a terrible bother, and then put his cellphone to his ear.

Duo fell backwards onto the couch when the businessman rapidly talked into his phone in some foreign language. He initially assumed it was Japanese, considering his heritage, but then he remembered reading somewhere that mister genius spoke multiple languages fluently – like seven, or eight, or twenty-four, whatever.

Fucking Hell. Duo sighed as there seemed to come no end to the phone call, but it was mostly the person on the other end of the line talking and Yuy just checked information on his computer, sometimes frowning at the screen when there were apparently some discrepancies.

He hadn't even noticed, or cared, that Duo was wearing a black shirt. The American wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Some explanatory monologue about why he, himself, never _wore_ black and yet had a black suitcase, a black couch and a black car anyway? Maybe J.J. had been right all along – it could happen once in a blue moon. Maybe the issue didn't run any deeper than vanity and the man just didn't like how he looked in black clothing. Although Duo couldn't imagine why, with a golden complexion like that, surely every color suited him; he was certainly able to rock every other shade he had seen him wear when most people really could only pull off a black suit.

The phone call ended abruptly and Yuy quietly continued his work.

Duo looked down at his watch. He still had another hour to kill. Subtly he asked: "Doesn't it bother you to have to work all evening?" He was pretty sure the implied 'I sure hate it' hung heavily in the air. Heavily enough for even socially-illiterate-Yuy to pick up on it.

"I like working."

"I'm sure, otherwise the hours would have driven you mad by now." He laughed at his own joke. Speaking of being driven mad… "Can you tell me what you're doing? I'm interested," He explained when he received a suspicious look.

Yuy ignored him and started typing.

"Seriously." He insisted. "I want to know what's so interesting that you completely ignore your two-thousand dollars' worth of company." He hadn't really meant for his bitterness to be that obvious, but what had meant to sound as a lighthearted joke came out as a foul accusation. Yet, still, it didn't affect the man in the least, as he continued to type.

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take it anymore! It was hopeless! There was no point suffering through these Friday night ordeals. His target was too cold, too detached, too compartmentalized. He would never get him to say anything meaningful, certainly not the location of his secret vault where he hid a chunk of his precious money. All the rage and despair bubbled up to the surface again, evaporating his earlier resolve. His skin crawled. His fingernails dug into the leather of the armrest as he tried to hold onto his cool, but it was futile. Steam was practically blowing out of his ears. "Fuck you!" He jumped up from the couch. Finally, Yuy bothered to look at him. His expression was barely surprised. "I can't do this anymore!" Duo stated. He knew he should keep his mouth shut but he had to vent or else he would surely explode from the built up pressure. "I thought you were quiet because you were shy, but that's not it. You don't talk to me. You hardly even look at me. You make me feel like shit."

The man was unmoved. He only stared as Duo continued his outburst.

"You must think I'm _so_ stupid. And so worthless!" He laughed bitterly. "If you think this lowly of me, why am I here? It's very clear you think I'm not good enough for you! So why the fuck would you pay to keep me here? I don't need this. I don't need to be ignored and degraded like this, by some snob who thinks he's too good for me! What the fuck do you know? You don't even know me!" Once he finished he was out of breath. He stared back at the businessman and felt his eyes well up with tears when he saw how utterly unaffected the man was by his explosion of emotion and resentment. He never stood a chance. J.J. never stood a chance. He inhaled deeply and said definitely: "Goodbye." He pivoted on his heels and promptly walked out the door. He paused in the foyer and waited for Gerry as he was certain the butler was keeping one eye trained on the surveillance monitors after last time. Gerry appeared shortly and he frowned at the American's flustered face.

"You can call my escort," He said. He was on the verge of tears. "I'm leaving."

"I'll take you," Gerry replied and with a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder he guided Duo through the familiar hallways and out onto the backyard patio. A guard jogged up to them. "What happened?" Gerry wanted to know.

Duo shook his head and met the guard halfway.

"Sir, your payment!"

"Keep it!" Duo yelled over his shoulder and he let the guard take him back to the street.

He sat on the curb around the corner from the gate for forty minutes when the black SUV finally approached. He got into the car and they silently exchanged the watch for the lighter and the cigarettes. Neil waited for him to take a couple of drags, keeping the car parked at the curb. "Letty got a call."

Duo buried his face in his hands and mumbled: "Let me guess, the butler confirmed that I wasn't invited back for next week."

"Yuy was the one who called."

He looked up, eyes wide with shock. " _He_ called?" He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Neil smirked. "He wants to see you again." He paused for effect. "Tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Apparently he didn't say. But he's expecting you at seven. For dinner."

"This guy is fucking crazy."


	7. Chapter 7

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Seven**

Duo was dropped off by Neil around the corner from the back gate. He idled out of sight from the estate for a moment, rubbing his moist palms on his sides and fussing with his bangs. He had realized Yuy might not have called him back because he had had an epiphany and was willing to acknowledge and apologize for his condescending behavior, the wealthy man might just be pissed off at the American for going off on him and the street rat in Duo feared he was walking into a trap. His mind was racing with worst-case scenarios. He imagined the police waiting for him at the mansion, his identity and his true purpose revealed.

He shook his head and steeled his nerves. With his hands shoved into his pockets he started walking up to the gate. He waited outside and watched one of the guards approach him. Unlike before, the gate wasn't discretely slid open. He eyed the big, bald guard suspiciously. "I have an appointment with mister Yuy," He pointed out when he got nothing but a stoic stare.

"Master Yuy has instructed that you are to come in through the front entry."

His eyebrow twitched at the words. "Why?"

He chuckled, apparently it was a senseless question to ask. "Going around left is shorter," The guard supplied.

"Fine." He held his gaze for a moment longer and then went left and walked along the high, brick wall that surrounded the property. The sun was sinking in the sky and the shadow of the barbed wire lining the top of the wall fell across Duo's face as he headed around for the front gate. The change in routine confused him, but he was in no position to deny the whims of the rich man. If he wanted him through the front gate, he would come through the front gate. That was one of the scary things about his part in the overall mission, he had no control over anything. Out there, Neil watched his every move, with Tsubarov looking over his shoulder as well. Inside the gates, Yuy dictated the rules.

He straightened his shirt before rounding the corner and came to a halt in front of the imposing, wrought iron gate that gleamed black, with sharp speared tips pointing up, like a father raising his finger in warning. He was startled when another guard suddenly appeared before him, on the other side of the gate. His black suit was pressed to perfection, his earpiece was obvious.

"Duo Maxwell?"

Duo nodded.

The guard signaled someone to his right and then, with a creak and an electric buzz, the double gates swung open inward.

"Step forward," Ordered the guard.

Duo stepped onto the gravel driveway that was so long he couldn't even see the main house from where he stood, just inside the gate. He swallowed audibly when they shut behind him and he spread his arms and legs as the guard moved in for a routinely pat-down.

To their left was a smaller house – still a mansion by anyone's standards - which was undoubtedly the headquarters of Yuy's security detail. Judging by the threesome of giggling maids that emerged, it probably also served as quarters for the permanent staff. They looked at him momentarily before taking a path that ran parallel to the main driveway and started walking up to the main house.

"I will take you to the front door."

Duo expected to be roughly taken by the arm as he had been on previous occasions, when he entered through the back gate, but instead the guard politely gestured him to follow him and he led him to a white golf kart that was parked off to the side. "You're kidding me," Duo said with a chuckle as the guard climbed behind the wheel.

"Would you rather walk?" The guard wasn't being snarky, he was sincerely asking him what he preferred.

"I would rather drive myself," He said, but didn't press it and sat down next to him in the front seat.

With a jolt the kart sped away and headed up the driveway that cut straight through the front yard of the massive estate.

The conman listened to the crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels and watched the thick oak trees that lined their way, the branches extending, creating a canopy of leaves above them and a play of shadow and light on the ground.

When they cleared the last of the trees the house appeared before them and it was the first time he had seen the front façade of it. It was a massive, towering block of sandstone that dwarfed the kart as it approached. Straight ahead was a dark opening, tunneling through the front of the house, that led to the inner courtyard. Duo blinked his eyes when the kart sped through the opening and emerged in the sunbathed stone courtyard, sharply steering around the central fountain.

A shiny, silver Mercedes with rental plates was parked right in front of the door.

Duo climbed out of the kart and was led up the steps of the front door by the guard and he watched him use the brass knocker to announce their arrival.

The door was opened shortly by the butler, Gerry, who smiled when he laid eyes on the longhaired man. The guard took his leave and Duo was invited inside.

"That was different," Remarked Duo.

"You are a proper guest of master Yuy now, guests come in through the main entry, we don't have them sneak in through the back gate."

"I appreciate that. I'm guessing it was your idea?"

"Not at all. Master Yuy is a stickler for etiquette and propriety."

"Hm. He likes his rules, huh?"

Gerry smiled.

"Shouldn't _the master_ come greet his honored guests himself?" Duo challenged, looking around the hallway.

"I'm afraid master Yuy is still in a meeting-"

Duo rolled his eyes in frustration.

"- But I am to assure you he will join you shortly."

He nodded at the door to the right – the 'waiting room' – "I suppose I should take a seat in my pen?" He spat. He didn't want to be rude, it wasn't Gerry's fault, but he didn't look forward to another evening of being treated by Yuy the way he had gotten used to; as a bother who deserved none of his attention nor his respect.

"I suggested to Master Yuy that you might prefer waiting on the back patio, with a refreshment, perhaps."

Intrigued, Duo said: "I would prefer that." He followed Gerry through the double doors underneath the winding staircases and marveled at the sights around him when Gerry held open the door to the private part of the house.

"This is the formal living room," The butler announced, shaking his head, bemused at Duo's state of awe.

The formal living room had a ceiling that was two stories high. The wall straight ahead was entirely made of glass, with the exception of the brick chimney of the large, stone fireplace cutting through the center, all the way to the top. The windows overlooked the backyard; the twin patios, the swimming pool and the landscaped gardens beyond. The living room floor was tiled with large, dark grey lime stones. The cold hardness of the floor contrasted with the warmth of the vertical bamboo wall coverings. Two pristine, white leather couches faced each other in front of the enormous fireplace. Lights dangled down from the beams supporting the vaulted ceiling way up high. Paintings of various styles, sizes and colors adorned the walls as was the case throughout the estate. He noted the absolute lack of personal items that littered most homes.

Through open archways the room expanded on either side. To the left was an additional sitting room with comfortable furniture and a wet bar. To the right was the spacious, modern kitchen, currently occupied by a chef and two servants. The delicious scents of fine foods filled the air.

Finally, Duo managed to croak: "Wow…"

Gerry chuckled and headed into the kitchen without a word. Duo meekly followed him.

The lime stone floors continued into the kitchen, where their rugged appearance was offset by the modern, glossy black kitchen cabinets, including a twelve foot long cooking island where a chef in proper costume stood behind the stove. Two servants shuttled back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room with cutlery and china, even though there was a perfectly adequate informal breakfast area by the bay window where they could have had their dinner.

"What kind of drink can I fix you?"

"I'd like a beer, if you have it."

"I will get you a beer. You can have a seat outside, if you want, the weather is still nice." He moved to hold the door to the back patio open.

Accepting the invitation to take a seat, Duo walked outside. He decided to sit down on a bench right by the edge of the patio, facing the pool. When he looked over his shoulder to make another remark to Gerry he found he had been left alone, unattended. The way he was being treated was promising, but he was unsure how much of the kindness could truly be attributed to Yuy, most likely Gerry had arranged for this more humane and welcoming approach.

A few minutes later he heard the kitchen door open and he chuckled as he watched Gerry walk up to him, carrying a silver platter, balancing a bottle of beer, a tall glass and a crystal bowl filled with roasted peanuts.

"Just like my local pub," Duo joked as Gerry held it out to him. "I'm surprised _the master_ has beer in the house; the brew for the common folk."

"He didn't. I had one of the maids fetch a six pack from my own house." At the raise of Duo's eyebrow, Gerry explained: "Me and my wife live on the property, so I can best serve master Yuy. We have been assigned a little cottage at the edge, behind the security house."

Duo suddenly felt very guilty about the beer in his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trouble you."

"It is no trouble. Master Yuy will reimburse me, I know he's good for it."

Duo chuckled at the euphemism and took a sip, looking off into the distance. "So how much longer is he going to make me wait this time?"

"Not long. He had intended to be ready for your arrival, truly, but a business associate showed up unexpectedly this afternoon and the man is outstaying his welcome in the most unpleasant way."

"Can't Yuy just tell him to piss off?" Duo suggested crudely.

Gerry snorted. "Etiquette and propriety, mister Maxwell. Master Yuy lives by them."

"He didn't seem too concerned with decency when I was here," He bit.

"He just didn't know how to treat you."

"I'm pretty sure a smart cat like him could have figured being haughty and self-important wasn't very appropriate. Regardless of what I am, or what he thinks I am."

Gerry nodded sympathetically. "You will see that if you give him a chance he can surprise you. His… detached manner of conduct is not without reason. Once you two establish a routine he will figure things out."

"Is he like a social retard, or something?" His question was crass, but he had to know.

"Master Yuy is simply very discreet and cautious."

Etiquette, propriety, discreteness and caution, he was learning more about Yuy but none of it was useful, all this knew knowledge proved to be good for was reaffirming that Yuy was 'one tough nut to crack'. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you could be good for him," Was Gerry's instant, candid reply. "And I think he could be good for you."

He eyed the older man wearily. "You hardly know me."

"To be honest, we have reached a point where I would fight to get anybody in master Yuy's life, he needs someone. But I have a good feeling about you; you are frank, he needs that."

"Right." Sarcastically he shot back: "And I guess he'll be good for me because he's rich and I'm-" He stopped himself.

Gerry shook his head and then, after a polite bow, he walked away.

Duo bit his lip, he shouldn't have been so damn smart, he might have just been denied an important piece of information because he was being so spiteful.

He drank his beer in contemplative silence, regularly looking down at his wristwatch – a permanent loan from Neil – to keep track of time. The sight of the garden and the soft ripple of the water's surface in the pool stayed his irritation at being kept waiting. He wondered if he would be allowed to go back inside the house and explore a little more, now that he was to be treated as a 'proper guest', but he realized he didn't want to. Instead he used the time to relax and to calm his mind in preparation. He still couldn't explain why Yuy had invited him back, not only had the man been a complete asshole to him up until that point, he had been an asshole right back, yelling at him that other night. He didn't figure a guy like him to be the type of guy to stand insolence, especially not from someone perceived as inferior.

The empty bottle he balanced on the banister lining the raised patio. He was about to get up and head inside and demand to know why it was taking so long, when he heard the door open again. He froze, inexplicably, and didn't dare to turn around. Whoever it was, paused by the door. Duo listened intently. Not until after three heartbeats did the person slowly approach him, with barely audible footfalls.

Finally Duo cocked his head to look over his shoulder and he spotted the businessman standing a few feet behind him. After taking a deep breath – hoping the man wouldn't notice – he turned in his seat to face him properly. He observed the tall, graceful man, with squinted eyes. Yuy was dressed as casual as he had ever seen him; tan slacks and a white dress-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. He looked immensely different without the tailored jackets that Duo had always seen him wear. He realized Yuy wore a suit the same way a knight wears armor, not solely as a defense against attacks but also to demonstrate his status. The fact that he was approaching him now, without his armor, was promising.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," He started, adding as an afterthought: "Again."

"I appreciate the apology."

He nodded and looked off into the distance before continuing with evident effort to maintain the conversation: "Dinner will be ready shortly."

In spite of everything Gerry had assured him of, Yuy clearly loathed the interaction. The stiffness of his stance and the monotonous tone to his voice betrayed his aversion, further confusing Duo to why he had been invited to begin with. "What's for dinner?"

"Fish."

"What kind of fish?" He asked dumbly.

"I don't know."

"But you do know it's fish?"

"It's Saturday. So it's fish."

Duo chuckled, albeit somewhat bitterly.

"What amuses you?"

"Mister Yuy, it seems like we are having a conversation."

"Is that funny?"

"Kind of," He said with a shrug. "I've been trying to talk to you all this time and now we're finally talking. About fish."

Gerry interrupted the admittedly awkward moment, announcing dinner was ready. Duo followed the two men into the formal dining room, through thick double doors in the kitchen.

The floor of the rectangular space was the same as the kitchen and living room. On the right two tall, narrow windows overlooked the patio where Duo had just been seated. The walls were a dark, deep terracotta. Against the far wall was another shoulder-high stone fireplace. The long dining room table at the center of the room was robust and worn and could seat twelve in the leather chairs with high backrests that surrounded it. With the plants and pottery the dining room had a decidedly Mexican aesthetic to it.

They were seated on far ends of the table. The master with his back to the fireplace, Duo with his back to the kitchen doors.

He watched as a servant poured him a glass of wine, he consciously didn't express that he would have rather had another cool beer instead. Then he redirected his gaze to the enormous painting on the wall, another modern, abstract painting he didn't pretend to understand, let alone appreciate its supposed genius. "Your home is amazing," He remarked, once the servant had left the room for however brief. "I'm guessing you didn't decorate it yourself, though."

"I didn't." He took a sip of wine.

Duo nodded, it was obvious.

The design of the house was eclectic and indecisive. Like the designer was making a portfolio, using every room as a different page to showcase the variety of his or her talent, losing all focus on creating a coherent home that reflected the personality of the owner. Each room had a different style, making it impossible for Duo to pinpoint what Yuy's own style would be. Contemporary, like the living room? Modern, like the office? Rustic and ethnic, like the dining room? Usually he could get a pretty good feel about a person after a sneak peek into their homes, but the mansion was impersonal and the most the interior could say about the home-owner was that he was as detached as Duo predicted he would be.

After a small appetizer of caramelized lobster they were served the main course: swordfish. The meal was delicious but Duo couldn't help but think to himself that a five-dollar burger would have left him equally satisfied and pleased. Between bites he would watch the businessman who never looked up from his plate, not to talk to him, not even to acknowledge the servants as they poured him wine and brought him his food. The American was starting to lose his patience with him again. He knew he should cherish the second chance he had been given, but if matters wouldn't improve quickly he would burst out into another rant and stomp off just as he had done last night.

"Why am I here, Yuy?" He used the last name like an affront.

The man looked up. Finally. "Your outburst offended me," He pointed out coolly. "I haven't let anyone offend me in a very long time."

Duo snorted.

"My point is, I _let_ you offend me. I deserved it. I treated you-"

"Inhumanely," Duo supplied.

"Poorly," Yuy substituted. "For that I wished to apologize. And I do apologize."

He sighed and then nodded. "Thank you."

"But also," The exotic-looking man continued, "I wanted to correct your misinformed assumption."

Duo scrunched up his face.

"I don't think I'm better than you."

He was surprised at the dry, yet genuine confession. He leaned back in his chair and scrutinized Yuy's face from across the table. The man's was as unreadable as ever, but regardless, he got a sense that he was really trying to make up for his previous behavior…

"I think I'm smarter than you,"

…Or not, he thought bitterly.

"I think I'm more accomplished than you."

Duo looked off to the side, irritated at the turn the conversation had taken. You certainly aren't more humble, pal, he thought to himself.

"But that doesn't make me a better person than you. I know that."

He blinked at the sincere conclusion.

"I wanted you to know that I know that."

Even though he had to question Yuy's motives – either Gerry somehow talked him into it or he was driven by his own vanity – he was pretty confident the man was being truthful and it was probably the closest thing to a compliment that he could expect from the likes of him. "Thank you for saying that." He pushed the last few pieces of swordfish around with his silver fork, lost in thought.

The table was cleared and dessert was served. Duo was wholly disappointed that instead of a sweet treat, dessert was a plate of smelly cheese and a different kind of wine.

"I changed the painting in my office."

Duo was startled and momentarily confused by his sudden words, but then he realized what the man was referring to; the painting of the shadows that was on the wall in his office the first time Duo came to the house, but was exchanged with another one since then. "I noticed."

"I changed it because of you." He admitted and then his lips formed a thin, displeased line, like the admission was causing him physical discomfort.

His curiosity was piqued.

"After what you said about it, I didn't like it anymore."

He remembered his biting remark about the tallest shadow looming over the others, looking down on them. He hadn't suspected it would affect the businessman in any way, it was a pleasant surprise that his words had had some resonance and that even though Yuy might have seemed like he was ignoring him, he actually did listen to what he said. He wondered what thread he had accidentally pulled with his analysis of the painting. The symbolism of the shadow dominating the others had to have some personal meaning for the wealthy man, or else it wouldn't have bothered him enough to get rid of the artwork. Who was the towering shadow in his life? "That was just my interpretation. Isn't abstract art all about you, yourself, see in it?"

"You made me see it differently."

A smile tugged at his lips. He could imagine the man saying that with a bit of a pout, although, of course, in reality the billionaire's face was still purposefully impassive. "I'm sorry for ruining the painting for you." His tone was amused, he didn't try to hide it.

"You should be. It was very expensive."

He let out a single, hearty laugh at what he was sure was a joke, but Yuy's blank expression made him question his conviction. "Sorry," He mumbled into his napkin. He nibbled on some pieces of cheese but couldn't appreciate the sharp taste of it. When Yuy was done he got up from his seat and reactively Duo shot up as well.

"Excuse me. I have to retreat for the evening."

"More work?"

"On Saturday evenings I do laps in the pool."

Duo chuckled and at Yuy's puzzled expression he explained: "On Saturdays you have fish. On Saturdays you do laps." He waited for him to get the punchline but he decided to spell it out: "Fish gotta swim?" He hoped to see a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes, but the man was giving him nothing.

"You're funny," He surmised.

"If I was funny you'd be laughing right now," Duo countered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Come back next week."

The sudden invitation – or was it an order? - bewildered the American. He tried to play it cool, but he couldn't help his befuddled tone as he questioned: "Why?"

"Don't you need the money?"

Duo snorted at the understatement, but argued, out of pride: "I don't need _your_ money." That might have been one of the biggest lies he had told in a while, but he kept a straight face. "Don't pretend you're doing me any favors. If you _want_ me to come back, ask me to come back, nicely."

Yuy narrowed his eyes at him, recognizing that he was trying to corner him. "I wouldn't mind to share your company again."

The American pursed his lips, enjoying the game. He drawled: "So…"

"Are you free next Friday evening?"

"Friday? I'm not sure," He said, playing coy.

"How can I persuade you? If your concerns regard the standard fee-"

"It's not about the money," Duo rushed to interject, before talk of money would irk him and ruin his current, positive mood. "I'm just not looking forward to sitting in your office, twiddling my thumbs for three hours."

"You don't like to be ignored," Yuy concluded, almost as if the discovery surprised him.

"I'm worth your attention," He replied shrewdly. He rapped his knuckles on the surface of the wooden dining table by which they were standing. "I liked this. Dinner. We could do that again. Though I'm not that big of a seafood fan. I don't suppose you have a steak-night?" He jested.

Yuy's answer was dead serious. "Wednesdays."

Duo smirked and held out his hand, offering to shake on it. "Wednesday it is."

The man glanced down at his outstretched hand. It was clear his guest's forwardness left him discombobulated, but he took the hand and shook it assertively.

Duo felt his heartrate pick up, the power of the contractions was uncomfortable in his chest. It was the first time they had touched but what scared him was that he would have to get a lot closer than a formal handshake to achieve his goal. He was relieved when Yuy's strong hand let go of his and he dropped it down to his side. He could feel the nervous sweat gather in his palm but he hoped the physical reaction had been delayed enough for it to have gone unnoticed by the cunning businessman whose blue eyes studied him.

"Mister Gerard will show you out," Yuy said.

Gerry appeared in the doorway of the dining room, as if on cue – but likely because he had been eavesdropping – and gestured for Duo to follow him.

Still staring at the businessman, Duo said: "Enjoy your swim. You know, if you'd like me to bring a bathing suit so I could join you in the pool Wednesday..."

"I don't swim on Wednesdays," He retorted dryly.

Duo chuckled at his answer. With a practiced wink he pivoted on his heels and followed Gerry out of the room, through the kitchen, back to the foyer.

Once more an envelope was waiting on the table at the center of the two-story foyer. Gerry picked it up and offered it to him.

"Thanks."

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He asked hopefully.

Duo snorted. "Gerry, my friend, you see something in him that I just don't."

"Only because I know him better," The older man said as he held the front door open for him.

Duo shrugged and stepped outside. He spotted the golf kart coming up the driveway towards them to pick him up and shuttle him back to the front gate. He said his goodbye to the butler and then sat down next to guard and was taken to the exit. With his hands stuffed into his pockets he walked around the perimeter to the usual drop-off and pick-up point and he was surprised to see the black truck was already waiting for him.

"How long have you been parked here?" He asked as he climbed into the vehicle, foregoing a greeting.

"Since about forty minutes after I dropped you off," Said Neil. "Honestly, I was worried you wouldn't last very long in there, after last night."

"Hm." Duo nodded in gratitude when Neil handed him back his pack of cigarettes and his silver zippo lighter. He wasted no time lighting up a smoke.

"So?" The Russian inquired expectantly.

"We had dinner."

"Could you be more precise?"

"Swordfish."

Neil rolled his eyes at him. "I mean-"

"I know what you mean," He chastised. "I need another lift, next Wednesday."

The man's face split into a satisfied grin. "Great. That's really great, Duo. Ha ha!" He playfully punched him in the side, to celebrate the victory.

"You act like I've found the safe already."

"It's only a matter of time. I'm sure of it."

Duo looked out the window. He wasn't so convinced.

Neil took him back to mission headquarters – the apartment overlooking Corbeau Park, where the Bear and Angelica had been waiting for them. J.J. was absent and Duo didn't bother to ask where he was, he wouldn't like the answer anyway. Angelica had found an old blueprint of the mansion and it was up to Duo to update the schematic, in particular to scout and document the security measures. Angelica made marks on the blueprint as Duo pointed out where there had been camera's mounted on the walls, which way they faced and if they were stationary or rotating, as far as he could tell. The Bear was particularly interested in how many guards and other staff he had counted on the premises. Duo didn't like the feral look in the man's eyes, like he was willing – eager even – to tear through every single person to get to their prize. He knew then that it was not only his duty to make Yuy reveal the location of the safe, but also his responsibility to find a way to pull the heist off without endangering anyone's life.

"He's a man of routine," Duo relayed. "That might prove to be convenient later on, when we need the house to ourselves. We won't be caught by surprise."

"That's great," The Bear said sarcastically. "But are you any closer to figuring out where the bastard hides his money?"

Duo looked at him sharply and tried not to be affected by the cold stare he received in return. "I'm only just getting started. The office is a safe bet though." He pointed at the blueprint. "It's the only room that makes sense, for a guy who wants to keep a close eye on his money."

"Well…" Angelica started. "That and the _bedroom_."

Duo froze.

The Bear noticed and he smirked. "Then he knows what he has to do."

"We've hardly reached that point. For fuck's sake, we talked about fish today."

"He's a faggot. You're a faggot. How difficult can it be to get him with his pants around his ankles?"

Duo straightened up, making himself as tall as he could. "Don't call me that."

"Or what?" The Bear sneered.

"Guys," Neil interjected. "Cool down. Duo, it's fine, relax."

"Put a muzzle on your _dog_ ," He spat.

The Bear cackled.

"We get it," Neil appeased, "You need time. We understand. You're doing great. You're in, the hard part is over."

Duo scoffed. "The hard part is not over."

"I'll take you home so you can rest. You've been high-strung all day. Come on."

At Neil's insistence he let the Russian drive him back to his apartment. "Duo," He called when the braided man stepped out of the car. "You need to stop letting The Bear get to you."

Duo sighed.

"Not only because he enjoys it and you shouldn't give him the satisfaction, but more importantly because you are going to be working together for a long time and I need you to stay focused on your task."

"I am focused," He asserted and he slammed the door shut.

The next Monday, as he routinely kept track of Yuy's and his company's activities, he learned that Yuy Enterprises had taken over a food-processing company in Oklahoma, previously family-owned. By clever use of loopholes in the contract nearly three hundred employees had been laid off in spite of the fact that part of the deal was for the staff to be maintained. The former owner was enraged and his backlash was understandable, he had tried to protect his people, after all and Yuy had abused his eagerness for a solution to save the bled-dry company by having his lawyers construct a cunning contract. Duo suspected the unannounced visitor in the rental Mercedes who, according to Gerry, had 'outstayed his welcome in the most unpleasant way', was the previous owner in question. Remembering Yuy's aloof and collected demeanor of that evening, after listening to what must have been heartfelt, desperate pleas, it was clear how unaffected the businessman was by the struggles and misfortune of others. He just sent them on their way and ate his lobster and swordfish, without a care.

How could a man like that, who values money above all else, ever be expected to trust a – presumed – _prostitute_ with the whereabouts of his private stash?

Duo didn't share his concerns with the team. He didn't want to discourage their faith in him and he also didn't want another empty pep-talk from Neil.

Angelica had gotten her hands on a Kensington safe, the same model that Yuy had had installed in his sprawling home. Even though it was surprisingly small – Duo's mind had run amuck with visions of an enormous, cinematic bank vault – it was too heavy to simply take up to the apartment where they strategized, so she had it delivered to a storage facility. She took them all to see it, in the name of transparency and proudly presented the supposedly un-crackable safe. She would use it for practice. She assured the group she could crack it already, but she wanted to improve on her time. They left her in the storage room, catching the first of the muted beats coming from her headphones before pulling the metal door down.

They parted ways. The Bear headed for his Chevy and Duo followed Neil to his truck. J.J. was drunk on the couch back at Duo's place, but he didn't tell them that, instead he fed them the lie that he had J.J. running errands for him, tracking down more information on the target.

Duo sat beside Neil quietly until he noticed he took a wrong turn. And then again. He wasn't taking him to his apartment. "Where are we going?"

"I've found Seth. Seth Ripley."

Duo's eyebrows twitched together. "The pimp of the mysterious mister Fox?"

"The one and only. You sound surprised." He looked at him with a grin. "You're not the only one who is good at his job."

"I didn't doubt your skills. I doubted the longevity of a guy like that. I figured he would be dead."

"Close enough," Replied the would-be general mysteriously. "You really are a mind reader."

He parked the truck in front of the Pearly Gates Hospice, a darkly humorous name for the place where the poorest of the incurably ill came to die. Darker still was the red graffiti on the front façade, right by the door: You will burn in Hell. Duo had been to the hospice before, as a visitor of course, no patient leaves alive. Unqualified nurses took care of sickly drug dealers and disease riddled prostitutes. He exchanged a look with Neil and then they stepped inside.

Seth Ripley was nothing more than pale skin drawn taut over bones and tendons, slowly wasting away in a wheelchair in the living room, heaving to breathe the stifled, thick air. The oxygen mask hung uselessly around his neck. He had lesions on every visible part of his body and sores around his mouth. The man was already in Hell; he was dying of Aids. Duo had lived on the streets, he had known friends who sold themselves for a meal, he knew very well what that disease looked like.

Seth looked at Neil with some measure of horror when the Russian approached him and sat down across from him.

"Seth. We've never had the pleasure of actually meeting. You look good," Neil taunted.

Duo looked away, uncomfortable with Neil's ruthless attitude towards a dying man. If he had known he was going to be rude to him, he would have warned him. With limited time left on earth, Seth could not be bribed with money or anything else he would have previously considered of value. He would have to be inclined to share any information he had voluntarily and if Neil insulted him he could very well not tell them anything out of spite. It was important to their mission to find 'Calden Fox'. Duo could use all the help he could get to get close to Yuy. Seth was their only lead to find the man who had somehow burrowed himself into the billionaire's life for almost a year.

"I wish I could say the same about you," Ripley croaked. "What do you want? You are too late to add me to your ledger of 'friends', I'd need a cross behind my name before the ink dries. A waste of ink."

"I keep track digitally now," Neil patted his pocket where he kept his phone. "It costs me nothing to write down a name. And it is no effort at all to erase it. I don't do the 'cross thing' anymore."

"If you want to add me to your list-" He coughed horribly. "- you have to convince me to want to be on your list."

"What will it take?"

"A lot. We are basically talking about selling you my dying words, after all."

"How much money did you have in mind?"

Duo frowned.

Seth chuckled, but it evolved into dry heaving. A nurse came and insisted that he should wear his oxygen mask, but with wild gestures an angry words he convinced her to leave him alone. Once she was out of earshot, he said: "I want you to kill me."

Duo's mouth went dry.

"Can't you do that yourself?" Neil countered casually.

"I don't even have the strength to stop myself from shitting my pants. And these god-fearing cunts won't help me out either."

"How do you want it?"

Duo looked at Neil absurdly. Was he seriously considering killing the man for the information? Even though the death was at his own request, he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Painless. I want an overdose of morphine and one last smoke before I go," The sickly man said, his voice determined and calculated.

"Okay."

"Today."

Neil nodded. "If you tell us all you know about Calden Fox and his relationship with Heero Yuy, I'll have someone at your bedside tonight."

Seth raised his eyebrows at hearing the name, he clearly didn't understand the relevance of the former prostitute in any scam. He heaved a deep sigh, his eyes, sunken deep into the sockets, looked relieved. "Deal."

The Russian glanced up at Duo. "Make notes, this is important." Looking back at Seth he urged him to start.

"His real name is Voss Gable. His mother was German. Voss means Fox, get it?" He chuckled dryly. " _Mister Fox_. He was an arrogant asshole, always thought he was too good for the business. He was my best worker and he made sure I was aware of it. And he always told me: "I'm gonna leave Seth, any day now, I'm gonna leave and what will you do then?". He said that for seven years, so I wasn't exactly worried. Until, one day, he left. He had been working for Heero Yuy for a while by then."

"How long?" Duo asked. "We need as much detail as possible," He said as a way to apologize for interrupting him.

"Eight months."

"Every Friday?"

"That's how it started out. Three hours, every Friday. But after two or three months, he started going over there more often. First a couple of evenings during the week, then entire weekends, until at one point – maybe six months in – he went away with the rich bastard for entire weeks. And I never saw a cent of those extended trips. In fact, I suspect Yuy stopped paying him."

"Stopped paying him?" Neil chimed in. "Was Calden – Voss, I mean, okay with that?"

"He made no complaints. He didn't get paid anymore, as far as I could tell, but Yuy got him expensive gifts; suits, watches, tickets to games and shows, a goddamned car and eventually a luxury apartment. Voss was being looked after just fine."

"Eight months seems rather short, based on what I know about Yuy," Duo said.

"Oh, in the beginning Voss would bitch and moan about not getting anywhere with the Asian fuck. Said he was cold and distant."

That sounded more like him, Duo noted.

"But he softened up I guess. Around the seven-month-mark, Voss was on the job more often than he wasn't."

"It was still a job for him?"

Seth snorted. "Oh yeah."

"It sounds like Yuy might have fallen in love with him."

The man in the wheelchair shrugged. "Maybe but I'm not convinced. I don't think he loved him. I think Voss was a project to him. Some rich guys are shamelessly selfish assholes, while others still like to play pretend they are decent and have some good to offer the world."

Duo was inclined to agree.

He paused to cough and dry heave, doubling over in his wheelchair. After a few deep breaths, he continued undeterred: "They fancy themselves saviors. Voss made himself an excellent damsel in distress. He was the choice pet for many of my high-end clients. But of course none of them were quite as rich as Yuy, so while most only ever talked about saving Voss and the other whores from their terrible life, it seemed Yuy actually did it."

"So what? They ran off into the sunset together?"

"Fuck no. I don't know how it happened exactly, but Yuy made him disappear."

Duo bit his lip. "That sounds ominous."

Seth laughed, the sound was raspy and uncomfortable. "He didn't have him wacked. He bought him a house in the Keys and sent him off with enough money to last a lifetime. Voss said he made a promise to Yuy, that he would leave and never come back. After that the Asian wanted a new guy every time. My guess was Yuy was looking for his next fixer-upper. Shouldn't be too hard, you'd think, given the degenerates he gets sent to his doorstep. When I ran out of employees to send him, I had to refer him to one of my competitors. And that was the end of my golden age."

"Do you have an exact address for mister Fox?"

"No one does. He boasted about the place, but wouldn't say exactly where it was. Yuy wanted him gone and he was all too happy to oblige. But come on Neil… How hard can it be – especially for a guy with your talents – to find a _Voss Gable_ in the Florida Keys?"

The Russian nodded.

"Yuy _wanted_ him gone?" Duo pressed. "Do you know if he actually said that?"

"That's what Voss told me he said."

"Thank you Seth, you've been very helpful." Neil rose from his seat.

"Remember our deal!"

"I will, don't worry about it. Rest in peace," He said and then casually saluted him.

Duo followed Neil out the door and across the parking lot, back to the truck. "Are you seriously going to have him killed?" He hissed.

"I'm a man of my word, Duo. This is how I used to run my business, the reputation of my word is important. As a networker, a rule of thumb is that your associates are only as trustworthy as you are. Once you start lying, or breaking promises, with even just one of them, you can't trust anyone anymore; you'll just be lied to in turn."

"This doesn't feel right."

Neil spun around. "You saw him. We're doing him a favor."

"No, there is no 'we'. I'm not part of this- or… what's going to happen tonight."

The Russian stepped up to him and even though Duo had learned to trust Neil over the past few weeks, he felt threatened. "You feel guilty about helping a miserable, terminally ill man humanely end his life?" Neil challenged.

Duo nodded.

He scoffed. "This is the kindest way to take a man's life; when he's ready, when he wants it and when it will be peaceful and definite. This will be a kindness, especially compared to what we'll do to the billionaire."

"We're not going to kill him!" Duo argued.

"No, we're just going to fuck him over in the worst way." He chuckled bitterly. "Actually, _you_ are the one who will fuck him over; betray his trust, ruin his life, alienate him from the only person who genuinely seems to like him – you said the butler talked him into calling you up again, right?"

The American nodded dumbly.

"He'll blame the old butler and resent him and fire him for it and then he will be alone, too afraid to ever trust anyone, ever again… Yet you whimper about putting a dying man out of his misery?"

Duo was stunned into silence.

"I don't judge people for having morals, Duo," Neil elaborated. "But they're of no use in our business, because eventually people's morals get fucked up, like yours, and then they are just a goddamn nuisance." He turned and walked to his.

"It's not like I had a choice!" He argued. "Tsubarov is making me do this!"

"Please! Don't pretend you had any qualms about fucking up his life. You loathe guys like him. Now, let's go. You need your beauty sleep and I need to make a call to a friend in Florida."

Reluctantly Duo got into the car and sat with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He stared out the side window and said nothing the entire way back to his apartment.

Neil was right. He hadn't been too concerned with Yuy's wellbeing after the job was done. He had thought about it, but only ever in a passing manner and it had been the least of his concerns. Mostly, he got a sick sense of enjoyment out of the thought of stealing this man's money, as revenge for all the wrongdoings of the entire upper-class towards lowlifes like himself. He felt as though Yuy owed them this money, as if he had been the source of his lifetime of troubles. That wasn't fair, but it was how he felt. Even though Neil had made him realize the full extent of the consequences of his planned actions, he still wasn't very sympathetic and as wrong as it was, he knew he had to fight to keep it like that. He couldn't start caring for the man, he couldn't make this any more difficult on himself than it already was. Not only could he do without the inevitable self-doubt that would cause, it would muddle his senses. His feelings would distort his logic and his party-trick, the key to pulling off this heist, would be over.

The car stopped and Neil waited wordlessly for him to get out.

"Neil?"

"Yeah."

"You're right," He acknowledged, without meeting his gaze. "I don't care about Yuy… You have to make sure it stays that way."

"He's a spoon-fed son of a bitch who fired three hundred hard-working people over the weekend," He helpfully supplied.

"Thank you."

"Sure thing."

With a nod he got out of the car and headed up to his apartment.

That night he slept uneasily. He dreamt of a shadowy figure standing over a bed, ready to kill. The person sleeping was Yuy. The killer at the bedside had a long braid.


	8. Chapter 8

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Eight**

The silver knife scraped the surface of the china plate as it cut into the T-bone steak with rich sauce that obscured the delicate pattern. It was the only sound in the dining room aside from his own breathing and chewing and it made Duo very uncomfortable. At times Yuy would look up at him, all the way from across the long table. The rich man was annoyed with Duo's lacking manners, he could tell as much. His disproval only made him abuse the plate with his sharp steak-knife even more and open his mouth sometimes when he worked on another bite.

He knew he had to say something, so he put aside his own frustration and remarked: "The steak is delicious."

"Hn."

"Who's your chef?"

"Sydnée used to work at 'Paul Bocuse', one of France's most exclusive restaurants, he is a very gifted chef," The man remarked in reply.

"Hm, definitely," Duo agreed with his mouth full and he grinned cheekily when the host shot him a look. He had to show Yuy that he wasn't afraid of him, that he wasn't going to change his behavior because Yuy looked at him a certain way. The businessman may have thought that he enjoyed the control he had over others and that it would please him to exercise that control over Duo in a successful manner, but the con-artist knew better than that. Yuy wanted him to stand up to him, he wanted him to misbehave. The challenge he was presented with excited him. Guys like Yuy were problem-solvers, if you weren't a problem, you couldn't get their attention, because they had surrounded themselves with so many other problems that absolutely required their focus.

At least, that was the guess he was currently betting on. It was all a guessing-game, even if 'the team' still didn't understand how that worked.

"So why did this French chef come work for you?"

"I was at the restaurant last May and I offered him more money."

He made a face but hid it behind his glass of red wine. Changing the query, he wondered: "Do you ever cook your own meals?"

Yuy frowned at him, like it was a stupid question. "No."

Spoiled little brat, Duo thought to himself. "What about breakfast? Do you pour your own cereal?"

"I don't eat cereal."

"What? There is no cereal-day?"

Yuy shook his head.

"Really? Huh… Because, you know, I think something like a Tuesday would make a perfect cereal-day," He mocked, watching the reaction closely.

Yuy was giving him very little to work with. The twitch of his eyebrow was either a warning to stop or genuine befuddlement at the ridiculous line of questioning, Duo couldn't tell and that irked him very much. He had to spend more time with the billionaire to get a baseline reading of him, only once he had documented those minute facial expressions in several circumstances could he deduce what they meant. Most people were much easier targets, humans, as social creatures, had evolved to clearly display emotional cues, most people – most of the time – couldn't help themselves. Spending a single afternoon with someone, probing them by discussing a range of topics, was usually enough for Duo to catalogue their expressions and mannerisms. Yuy was different, he was very contained and flat and he didn't even appear to be hiding things on purpose, or hiding anything at all. It seemed to be a matter of couldn't, as opposed to wouldn't. He was like a dog that couldn't wag it's tail. There was something very sad about it. So far, all he could tell for certain was that the glare where one eyebrow was lower than the other, with a crease on the inside, by his nose and one eye a little more narrowed, meant annoyance, but it didn't take a 'mind reader' to come to that conclusion. He had yet to figure out how the twitch fit into it.

"No," He said mildly, "There is no cereal-day."

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?" The American continued.

He paused to consider the answer. "Quinoa quiche."

He chuckled at the dry answer. "So Wednesdays it's quiche for breakfast and steak for dinner?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't have a certain breakfast on any particular day."

Duo rolled his eyes at him. "Right, _that_ would be ridiculous." He shook his head. "It's no more ridiculous than steak-Wednesdays or fish-Fridays."

Yuy chose to ignore him. He redirected his gaze to his plate and stared at his meal. Duo, in turn, stared at him, waiting. He smirked when he saw it, the twitch. It was confusion, he concluded with a fair amount of certainty. The rich man was confused at why he had dismissed quiche-Wednesdays when clearly logic dictates that it is indeed no stranger than fish-Fridays.

Duo took a big bite and suggested: "Pancake-Sundays, pal. Trust me on that one. Just saying."

"I'll take it under advisement," He retorted.

Duo laughed, pretty sure comments like those revealed Yuy's dry, cynical humor. Nothing but another hunch, but that was all he had.

Gerry came to clear the table and then another servant appeared with the half-empty bottle of red wine Yuy had ordered him to get from the wine cellar and open up before dinner. Duo watched the young man pour him another glass with empty eyes. When he excited the room the American waited for dessert to be served, but they were left alone. "No dessert?" He inquired boldly.

"It's a weekday," The other replied, as if that answered everything.

"So?"

Yuy let out an exasperated sigh and made a quick, off-hand wave. Gerry promptly walked into the dining room, betraying that the older man wasn't just listening, but watching closely as well. Monotonously, Yuy said: "Gerard, our guest would like dessert. Call Matty and tell her to send a serving of the staff's dessert over."

Instantly uncomfortable, Duo interjected: "No, I- Please don't go through the trouble. I don't want to be a bother."

"You are not a bother, you are our guest," Gerry explained dutifully. He made a bow and then exited the room.

Duo grimaced, he had completely lost his appetite for dessert. He didn't at all appreciate how Yuy had handled that, ordering the old man around and literally taking food away from his staff, without a second thought.

"You disagree," Yuy observed.

He looked up at him sharply. He was supposed to be reading _his_ mind, not the other way around. It was futile to deny it, so he said coolly in response: "Yes."

"Why?"

Duo snorted. He really had to spell it out? "You are just going to interrupt your staff during their well-deserved break – during their dinner - and have them bring you their food?" He could not hide the contempt in his voice.

Yuy smelled his wine, took a drink and didn't say anything. But there was something new in his eyes.

"You aren't even going to explain yourself?"

"I didn't realize you required an explanation," Yuy shot back.

"Ow, let me guess, because you don't owe me anything?"

Yuy's blue eyes narrowed, but he didn't appear angry. If anything, the sparkle suggested amusement, albeit of a dark, twisted kind. "I don't owe you anything, but that is not why. I assumed you didn't need me to explain because you are very quick in drawing your own conclusions. You already have your mind made up about me."

Duo sat back in his seat, a little stunned at being caught red-handed. Yuy was more aware of things than he had given him credit for and he immediately realized his mistake. A cunning businessman like him would have learned a thing or two about reading people on the job, after all, you can't land crushing blows if you can't tell where people's weaknesses are hidden. He wasn't worried however, he just had to be a little more careful. "Then change my mind."

"I don't need to change your mind."

"Why not?"

"I don't need your approval."

He was lying, Duo surmised. If he didn't care what Duo thought of him, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of inviting him last time and apologizing to him; his opinion mattered, but he was too proud to admit it. Playing dumb, he shot back: "Well, maybe that's the problem with rich guys like you," Duo sagged in his seat to get more comfortable, "You don't feel like you have to impress anybody and you don't answer to anybody. That kind of freedom turns people into assholes."

Yuy raised his eyebrows and then, effortlessly, he served the ball right back. "Than what is it that made you an asshole?"

Duo chuckled. He _was_ being an asshole and the aloof way in which the billionaire pointed it out was rather amusing. "Touché."

Gerry walked into the room carrying a silver tray, interrupting the moment. He placed a plate in front of their guest and announced: "Mint chocolate chip ice cream pie, with a crust of dark chocolate and rice krispies." He bowed and backed away.

He couldn't deny the fact that his mouth watered at the big piece of ice cream pie before him. His appetite rushed back to him in spite of the discussion so he picked up the silver fork and took a bite. "This is great," He said, the rice krispies crunching in his mouth. "Wouldn't you like some?"

"It's a weekday."

Duo smirked. "If you ask me, you should give Sydnée a night off once in a while and have whoever made this cook you your meal, you could be in for a surprise."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Sydnée cooks for the staff. He made the pie."

Duo paused. "Your French chef cooks for the staff?"

"Yes, he prepares dinner for the staff who want to eat here at the end of their day-shift or before their evening-shift. In the staff kitchen. Then, when I get back, he makes my dinner."

"The famed French chef that you flew in cooks dinner for the help?" He rephrased. He found it difficult to wrap his head around, he hadn't pegged Yuy to be the kind of employer to treat his staff to something like that.

"I pay him well for this services."

"Still though, he has to hate that, making fucking rice-krispy-ice-cream-pie, of all things, for the commoners?"

"I'm sure he does. But he doesn't hate the money."

Duo frowned. He didn't know what to think. Could he still be mad at Yuy for making Gerry bring him some of the dessert when the man had his expensive chef cook dinner for his entire staff? He still wanted to be angry at him, he wanted to hate the man, but his actions didn't seem nearly as unreasonable, entitled nor self-important as they had before. However, at the same time, he was uncomfortable with how smug it seemed to make the man that the chef would do his every bidding for that paycheck at the end of the month. Greed was a flaw of many people – you couldn't exactly blame people for wanting to get paid, money makes life a lot easier and who doesn't want that or deserve that? – he didn't like how that common trait gave Yuy so much power over everyone and he liked it even less than the businessman was fully aware of it and exploited it without scrupulous. The man was used to getting his way and not ashamed of it.

"So, what are your plans for tonight?"

The question prompted Yuy to look down at his watch. "I have a conference call with Dubai in forty minutes."

"And that will last all evening?"

"I expect so." He finished his wine.

"Closing a deal?"

"Yes."

Duo chewed on the inside of his cheek. Yuy wasn't volunteering any information but it was important that he learned a thing or two about the business from Yuy, so the man would feel comfortable talking to him about these sort of things. After all, his company was the most important thing in his life, if he felt like he couldn't discuss that with Duo, he would automatically be shut out of that part of his life, not leaving him with much else. "What kind of deal?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"It won't interest you."

Rather than denying that statement, he replied smoothly: "It interests you."

Yuy's eyebrow twitched again. He couldn't figure out if his guest was genuine or if he was being played with. "They are building a new hotel and plan to integrate some of my technology."

He was out of his depth but that kind of innocence suited the situation. "Like what?"

"Voice activated control over elements in the rooms like doors, windows, lights and air-conditioning and they want to outfit the suites with our interactive screens."

"What does that mean?"

"We have a projector-system that turns every glass-surface into a touch-sensitive, high definition screen. A series of synchronized projectors are embedded into the edges of the piece of glass to produce a crystal clear image over the entire surface, at the same time it monitors where the glass is touched and an algorithm allows it to figure out at any time which quarter of an inch of the glass surface corresponds with which button or other interactive option. This technology turns a glass coffee table into a tablet and the floor-to-ceiling windows into a television." The pitch sounded rehearsed and uninspired.

"That sounds pretty cool, but in my opinion that sort of stuff always fails to live up to expectations and it never really turns out to be an improvement over the stuff we already have," Duo said, with the purpose of eliciting a defensive retort.

"Unlike other companies we do not put our products on the market prematurely just to stay ahead of the curb. We are not clamoring to be innovative, we are taking our time to prefect our technology; both hardware and software. As a result, we aren't always the first to present a certain line of products to the public, but we are always the best. And then it is up to our advertisement department to convince people that it _is_ an improvement."

Duo made a mental note of the shift in his body language and added it to the register he was building of Yuy's behaviors and mannerisms. "For a tidy sum."

"Yes."

Duo nodded. "So the company is doing pretty well then?"

"Very well."

A question burned in his mouth, so he had to ask: "Why did you fire all those people last week when you promised you wouldn't?"

Yuy was irked by the accusation but not surprised as far as Duo could tell. "I never promised anything." That was the end of conversation.

As if on cue Gerry appeared once more and took away the empty plate in front of him. "I trust you enjoyed your dessert?"

"It was great, thanks."

He smiled and after exchanging a brief look with his employer he announced that he would be escorting Duo to the front door.

The long-haired American panicked a little as he got up from his seat and had no choice but to follow Gerry out of the dining room before Yuy had extended a new invitation. Had he gone too far, had he been too bold? Gerry led the way to the foyer, where the envelope with his payment was waiting on the table by the orchid.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" Gerry asked while he handed over the envelope.

"Oh man, that steak was epic!" He tucked the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I was inquiring about the company."

"He's…-" He made a dismissive gesture. "I don't know. At least he talked today, that's something. I guess." He grimaced at his ineloquence. "But he didn't invite me back, so…"

"To the best of my understanding master Yuy expects you to be here next Wednesday. He presumed that since you preferred steak for dinner that you would accompany him for Wednesday dinners, as opposed to Fridays."

"Well, none of that was actually discussed. He never said he wanted me to come back every week."

"I will go ask him," Gerry pivoted on his heels and was about to leave, but Duo stopped him.

"No, I will talk to him myself. He has to invite me, like a decent human being, not have his butler relay some indifferent message." He walked past the butler and back to the dining room, but Yuy was no longer there. He looked around and spotted him outside on the patio, so Duo retraced his steps and went outside through the kitchen door.

Yuy was standing on the deck, overlooking his finely landscaped grounds. He had his hands buried deep into the pockets of his light grey slacks. The wind had coerced a single lock of hair out of rest of his hairdo – slicked back and held together with a lot of gel – and it moved back and forth in front of his eyes and he scrunched up his face when the ends of the fine hairs tickled his nose. He looked so… human.

Duo asked, out of the blue: "Do you want me to come back next week?"

He didn't turn to face him. "Why do you ask?"

"Gerry said you wanted me to come back, but you called me an asshole before, so… I don't know what the fuck you want from me," He shrugged his shoulders and made confused gestures with his hands but the man wasn't even looking at him.

"You can come back," Was the curt reply.

His ego tempted him to force Yuy to say that he _wanted_ to see him again, but he knew he shouldn't risk it. "Fine. When?"

"You like steak, right? Steaks are Wednesdays."

"Great." He sighed. "I'll see you next week."

Gerry appeared behind him and took him back to front door again where a guard was waiting. Duo got into the passenger seat of the golf cart and angrily counted the trees they passed as they traveled down the long driveway, hoping to distract himself. When the iron gates closed behind him he shook his head and hurried down the street to where Neil was waiting in his truck.

The Russian reacted enthusiastically when he was told that the con-artist was invited back again next week and that the two of them had had an actual conversation.

"You're missing my point, Neil," Duo argued, not taking his eyes off his own reflection in the side window.

"What is your point?"

Duo could imagine the exasperated roll of his eyes. Neil thought of him as a drama queen; a nervous little faggot. He overestimated his abilities to read people and still underestimated the challenge before them. "I'm not going to get very far with weekly dinners. I am providing the most basic kind of companionship, that of background noise. My presence doesn't mean much more to him than leaving the TV on even when you're not watching."

"But you said he talked to you."

"It's not good enough…" He said through gritted teeth. "It needs to go faster."

"We have time," Neil assured him. "We have three more months before he makes his next withdrawal at the bank."

"I need it to go faster, Neil!" Duo burst. "I can't spend the next three months with this guy!"

The would-be general barked back: "Suck it up! Don't rush things because you don't like it, you'll fuck it up!"

"Says the guy who asked if I knew where the safe way at the end of the first week," Duo shot back with a snort.

"That was before you explained it to me. You told me you needed time! You said so yourself. You _have_ time, so use it. You have to do a little foreplay, if you go too fast, he will lock that shit down, that's what you said."

"Well… I actually didn't use sex as an analogy, but that does work…"

"Right, so take your time," Neil said definitively. "This isn't about what we talked about before, right?"

"What did we talk about?"

"Please don't tell me you are already starting to like the guy…"

"What? No! Trust me, it's not that. He's a smug prick, I haven't forgotten."

"… Yet…" Mumbled Neil.

Duo shot him a look to shut him up. He started to fumble with the hem of his shirt as silence consumed the space between them. "How's the foxhunt coming along?"

"Good enough."

"As someone trained to read between the lines, that doesn't make me feel very good..."

"I sent a guy down there. A bloodhound, if you will. If the fox is still there, he'll find him." He made the final turn into Duo's street and parked the car in front of his building. When his passenger didn't move, he pointed out: "This is you."

"Did you kill Seth?" Duo demanded to know, finally looking at him.

"He is dead."

Duo swallowed audibly. "That was not my question. I asked if _you_ killed him."

Neil looked up ahead. He deflected by asking: "Does it matter? Does it matter if it was me or if I called in a favor?"

"Yes."

"Alright. But do you really want me to tell you?"

Duo opened the door and stepped out. He said over his shoulder: "You don't have to anymore. I already know." He slammed the door shut and headed inside.

Neil had killed Seth himself. He didn't know if it was a twisted sense of honor and duty or if he secretly enjoyed the act of taking someone's life, but both options scared him equally. He worried what would happen to his own humanity if he stayed on this job too long. He had always prided himself on being as morally just as a common crook could be. He knew from watching others that doing long cons chipped away your character; it gnawed at the edges of your person in the depth of night, changing the shape of you and one morning you would just wake up and not recognize yourself and you won't even be bothered, you would just go on as this new persona, this broken being, with sharp, jagged edges. He didn't want that to happen to him, he didn't want to meet the fate A.J. had protected him from all those years. But he didn't know what else to do to pay off his debt; to save J.J., as he had promised.

He had no choice but to continue, so he did.

The team met up every Friday. Most nights, J.J. couldn't be bothered to be present. Angelica showed off improved times on cracking the safe every week and Neil assured all of them that his 'hound' was on the fox's trail.

Duo had two more steak-nights with the secluded billionaire, but without any results to report on. The evenings were carbon copies of on another; the dinners were quiet and uneventful. Sometimes Yuy would share a mundane or technical detail about his work when prompted, but it never meant anything to Duo. It was never anything he could really work with, he hit a dead end every time. He was the most important cog in the machine but he was failing.

At the end of another unsuccessful dinner, Gerry walked him to the foyer and handed him the money as per usual. The butler opened the front door but the guard had not yet arrived with his golf cart. Duo frowned but Gerry was not surprised.

"I told him to wait a few minutes before driving up to the house," The older man explained.

Duo quirked an eyebrow at him. "Obviously you have something to say, so go ahead."

"I mean no offense, I know you are a _professional_ ," Gerry started politely, "But I've noticed that you only ever try to engage master Yuy into a conversation about his work."

"His work is the most important thing to him. Most people like talking about the thing that is most important in their lives."

He nodded in understanding. "Yes, but by talking about his work you are only going to get to know master Yuy as the businessman. Wouldn't you rather get to know who he really is?"

If the circumstances were different he would rather not get to know the man at all. But with things as they were, he replied genuinely: "Yes, I would."

"Then you are asking the wrong questions."

He stepped back. He wasn't used to his methods failing, much less have a layman point out his failure to him. It was an embarrassing slight to his ego, although he could tell the butler meant no harm of any kind. "You might be right, but when I asked him about his hobbies before, he brushed me off. Work is the only thing I can actually get him to talk about."

"Yes, master Yuy can be very taciturn where personal subjects are concerned. But I'm sure that if you don't give up on him, he will eventually open up to you."

He was distracted by the buzzing sounds of the engine of the golf kart as it drove into the inner courtyard and circled the central fountain. The guard waited for him patiently. He chuckled sheepishly. "I must admit, I'm not used to taking advise about how to do this."

"Master Yuy is a difficult man to get to know, but I like to think that I do know him pretty well and I am offering you my help."

He bit his bottom lip. He felt incredibly bad. His heart clenched. The old man had no idea what he was offering; what kind mess he would willingly partake in. "You would put that kind of trust in me?"

Gerry smiled kindly and warmly. "This man," He nodded at the guard who stood by the golf cart, "And his colleagues are here to be distrusting and to protect master Yuy from others. I trust _them_ , to do their job. My job is to protect master Yuy from himself, from his self-destructive predisposition to be reclusive. That means I need to take a leap of faith once in a while. I think you are a good man, mister Maxwell. I hope you will prove me right."

His heart plummeted into his stomach like a brick and he felt physically ill as a result. "I'll try," He said and he flashed him a practiced grin. He patted the butler's shoulder and then stepped out of the house and took a seat next to the guard in the kart. He looked at the grey-haired man standing on the front step, looking right back at him with warm, fatherly eyes. Duo raised his hand in a meek wave and then held on as the golf cart sped out of the courtyard and onto the long gravel driveway.

He looked off to the side, he didn't want to guard to see his face, he didn't trust that he could maintain his composure. He didn't want to betray Gerry's trust and he certainly didn't want to get the loyal man in trouble, but to not use his advice and his help to get through to _the master_ would be foolish, suicidal even. He needed all the help he could get.

On Sunday he spent the afternoon on the park bench by the church, to clear his thoughts and come up with a new strategy. Yuy was more difficult to get to than he had anticipated, his anti-social habits and socially-challenged demeanor obstructed the process and had led him astray. He had been so elated that he finally got the man to talk about something – work – that he had been tempted down a path that led nowhere. Gerry told him this in no uncertain terms. He had to wipe the slate clean and start anew. It all came back to art. Those paintings that decorated every available wall in the mansion was the only interest that was outwardly expressed and it could be key to his more private interests. He needed to refocus on the art, hopefully that would draw out more of Yuy's personality, allowing Duo to understand him better and to give him the references he needed to be able to read him.

The damsel-in-distress approach was a safe bet with a guy like Yuy, he decided, according to Seth it has worked for Voss – _mister Fox_. A classic interpretation of that method was what he liked to explain as 'the Cinderella con'; rich guys loved showing poor, innocent souls their world, to broaden their horizon, educate them, help them and, ultimately, dazzle them. It gives them a sense of being charitable, influential and important, it feeds the God-complex, which could always be trusted to be hungry. He had tried it on the businessman, but he had focused too much on his work. Gerry's warning made it clear that he had to focus his efforts on a different aspect of the man's life. Art was the only other option he had.

With renewed vigor he waited for the next steak-night.

He stayed quiet until hallway into the entrée, when he asked dumbly: "What's your favorite painting?"

Yuy looked up from his plate. His eyebrow twitched, indicating his confusion. But Duo had learned that confused was the best state he could evoke in the man so far, seeing as he was far more agreeable and forthcoming when he was confused than when he was annoyed or bored – the only other two emotional states Duo knew he could rouse. The key was that Yuy did not like being confused and in his efforts to figure things out, he betrayed things about himself. His reaction was defensive: "Why do you ask?"

Perhaps a little more foreplay – as Neil would have described it – would have been better, but at least Yuy's deflection, prompted by the blunt question, confirmed just how personal art was to the billionaire. His secrets were in those paintings. "I would like to know. I think it would tell me a lot about you." Crucial to the success of a long con was to be as honest as possible, just short of giving yourself away.

"You wouldn't know the work anyway."

"Probably not. But I could Google it," He smirked.

"Paintings can't be photographed," Yuy said, "Not in a way that truly captures their essence. A painting can't be _seen_ on a computer screen or in a textbook, it has to be experienced."

Fucking snob, Duo thought to himself. "Alright, tell me what it is and which museum it's at. I'll go experience it."

"It's not in a museum."

Duo nodded. "You have it. It's here."

"Yes."

Cheekily he requested: "Show me."

"No." The accompanying glare left no room for argument. "It's not in a part of the house where you are allowed."

Duo considered his answer and made mental note of it. It made sense that he kept his most valued possessions in a part of the house that was off-limits to his guests, especially his _professional_ guests. He smiled inwardly when he realized the safe wasn't be in the office. During their earlier meetings, Duo had always been free to roam through the business-section of the house, the entire right wing; the 'waiting room', the home office, the library, the conference room and the forward sitting room. Yuy never kept a close eye on him those times, too engrossed by his work. If the safe was in any of those rooms he wouldn't have trusted to lose sight of him.

It wasn't much of a breakthrough, but at least the epiphany narrowed down the number of possibilities.

His sense of victory was quickly quelled as it dawned on him that the next most logical place for the safe to be hidden would be the bedroom and as The Bear had already pointed out, there was only one way to gain access to the bedroom…

He hid his shudder and continued: "How did you get interested in art?"

"I don't know."

Duo smiled at the genuine answer and the new, soft tone of voice. "It's a pretty expensive hobby, I imagine, so it's a good thing you got rich."

The expression of the man hardened and Duo knew instantly he had said something wrong. He thought it over for a second and then the con-artist pointed out: "You don't like it when I mention your wealth."

"I don't." He took another bite of steak.

"Why?"

"Because I know it is an insult, coming from you," He answered matter-of-factly.

Duo blinked at him. "Why would you say that?"

"You hate me because I'm rich."

That accusation wasn't entirely uncalled for. "I admit to having a bias. But I don't hate you because you're rich."

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you," He hurried to say, not sure if he could claim that to be true. "I hate the way you treat me."

Another twitch. "I treat you like I treat any other guest."

Duo chuckled and said mildly: "Then it is no wonder you don't have any friends."

Yuy was hardly stung by the remark. "I invite you into my house, I serve you the very best food and wine. How could you possibly hate that kind of treatment?"

The long-haired man leaned back in his seat. "You never show any interest in me. You never ask me any questions about my life or my interests. And you are condescending whenever I try to get to know you, because you think I'm just a poor slum who couldn't possibly understand your very important work or your interest in art." Before Yuy could defend himself he gestured for him to remain quiet and it was apparent that the wordless command enraged the rich man, which made Duo feel quite accomplished – another expression to add to his references; the downturned corners of his mouth and the tense jaw. "Look, it's an improvement. You treat me decent enough, as opposed to before. And you do pay me for my time, so I can't ask for any more and I won't. But since you are paying me, don't you want to get your money's worth? Is listening to me masticate this piece of cow really worth two grand? Don't you want a more interactive experience? Because for what you're paying me, I can do interactive."

Yuy suddenly rose out of his seat, the legs of the chair scraped over the grey stone floor as it was pushed back by his sudden rise. He leaned on the table with clenched fists. "Get out," He seethed.

Duo's eyes widened. His heart pounded frantically at the dangerous turn of events. "What? Why? What did I-?"

"I do not allow lascivious proposals like that."

"Lascivious?"

Misinterpreting the question he explained: "It means lewd, indecent!"

Duo pushed himself out of his chair as well. "I know what it means!" He barked. "I made no 'lascivious proposal'!"

Because of the loud exchange Gerry appeared in the dining room, his eyes darted back and forth like he was watching a tennis-match.

" _Interactive_?" Yuy spat.

Realizing the mistake Duo composed himself and lowered his voice. "I wasn't suggesting sex," He tried to convince him. "I just meant that it's fine if we actually got to know each other and did more than have quiet dinners together. And by 'more' I mean actually get to know each other and do stuff, like- like squash or something."

Yuy snapped his mouth shut. He stared at the other for a while before turning his gaze to his butler for guidance.

Gerry smiled. "I see that this is only an instance of miscommunication. I will give you your privacy." He walked out as quickly and as soundlessly as he had walked in.

Yuy watched him go with slightly widened eyes, suggesting horror and desperation, but it was too soon to tell. Without making eye-contact he offered a formal apology.

"That's okay. I get it."

He slowly lowered himself back into his chair and Duo followed his lead.

When the silence became unbearable Duo shook his head and tried: "I'm sorry, I should have been more clear. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I jumped to conclusions. I overreacted."

The silence returned. They both finished their steaks and Gerry entered into the dining room to clear away their plates and later served Duo his dessert; a chocolate ganache cupcake sprinkled with mini pretzels. Looking for any excuse to say something, Duo offered to share the dessert.

"No."

"Right. It's a weekday." He made quick work of the slice of the cupcake. "Are you working again tonight?" He asked when he was done.

"Yes."

Duo nodded and got up, readying himself to be led to the front door by Gerry as soon as the butler had put away the plate he had practically licked clean. "I guess I'll see you again next week?"

"Do you like art?"

He cocked his head at the unexpected question. "I don't know. I haven't seen enough of it."

"At one of the galleries I frequent there is a mixed discipline art exposition next Friday. I wasn't going to attend, it's a little elemental, but… if you want, it could serve as a varied introduction for you."

Duo smiled, it was somewhat endearing to see the eloquent man struggle with what would have been a simple invitation. "That sounds like fun." It didn't, but Yuy was falling for the Cinderella angle it appeared. He wanted to show him part of his world and that was promising.

He simply nodded. He looked him up and down and Duo made a face at the disapproval he could read on the man's features. "There is a dress code," Yuy informed him.

"I'll see if I can dig a suit and tie out of my back of my closet."

That didn't put Yuy at ease. He got up and when he walked past him he ordered: "Stay here."

He had to bite back the defiant growl that threatened to burst past his lips. He waited in the dining room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He knew better than to start wandering around the house. There were camera's everywhere and he counted on the fact that the images were constantly being monitored. It wasn't the time to be bold.

When Yuy returned he was carrying a black suit cover with white lettering that read ARMANI.

"Holy shit." He dumbly accepted the bag by the coat hanger that stuck out of the top.

"We are about the same size. This should fit you well enough."

"Uhm… okay. Awesome…" He was caught off-guard by Yuy's generosity but he reminded himself that it was merely a measure to prevent embarrassment to himself, considering they would be seen in public together. "So, uh, what time should I be here, or do you want to meet up at the gallery?"

"My driver will pick you up at home at eight."

"I'm sorry, I don't feel comfortable giving you my address," He confessed.

"Security already has your address."

Right, he berated himself, the background check. Neil had warned him they would be thorough, which was partly why he got the job in the first place, because if they went digging they would find a clean record. It was, however, a little unnerving to be confronted with the fact that they did do their diligence and knew where he lived. It made him feel unsafe. "Eight it is." He held up the suit. "Thanks."

He was escorted back to the front gate as always and he was picked up by Neil around the corner.

"Sugar daddy giving you presents?" He taunted as he turned in his seat and watched the other carefully place the suit cover on the back seat.

Duo slammed the door shut and then climbed into the passenger seat. "Don't do that."

"Fine." He shifted the truck into drive and sped off. "What's the suit for?"

"Some boring exposition next Friday."

"Art stuff?"

"Yes, art stuff."

"Great!" He exclaimed. "That's a breakthrough, right?"

He nodded pensively. "It's progress."

Neil fished his lighter and pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. "Want a smoke?" He was already in the process of lighting one for himself.

"Are you kidding me?" Duo grabbed the lit cigarette and threw it out the open window. He took his lighter and packet and safely stuffed them away.

"What?"

"The suit!"

"Oh, right," He glanced at the rear view mirror. "Sorry, habit. We always have a smoke together while I drive you back to your place."

"It's fine, it's just…" He buried his face in his hands. "Fuck! This is making me nervous as Hell." Before Neil could ask, he explained: "Look, yes, it's progress, it's a step in the right direction. But I feel like I've stepped onto thin ice, one wrong move…"

"You won't make a wrong move. You are going to wow him wearing the suit he picked out for you and he is going to want to bang you in the restrooms of the gallery."

"I doubt it," He mused aloud. He fingered the outline of the lighter in his pocket. He needed a smoke real bad, but he had to resist, he couldn't show up in Yuy's suit stinking of nicotine. "He's weird about sex. He mistakenly thought I suggested we should fuck and he flipped out."

"Tell me, mind reader, what does that mean?"

"I don't know."

The Russian scoffed. "You keep saying that! You read everyone like an open book, how come this guy is a total mystery to you?"

"It's like I told you, I don't know guys like him. I have nothing to compare his behavior to. All I have is my bias against rich guys like him, but I feel like… I feel like there might be more to him."

Neil looked at him sideways. "Is this the part where I dutifully remind you he is a selfish asshole?"

"Don't worry about it, okay. I'm sure- I'm sure I'll figure him out. It's just taking me longer than I'd like. I'm not used to not being able to tell like that," He snapped his fingers to illustrate his point. "Normally, when I've spent a couple of hours with someone, I've had enough hits and misses that I have a pretty good idea of where to probe and the percentage of hits increases, until I'm getting hits all the time. But Yuy is not giving me much of any kind of feedback, so I still don't know for sure what the right direction is; what does he like, what does he want from me? To be lost at this stage of the game, is really making me second-guess everything."

"Don't tell me not to worry and then tell me shit like that! Jesus, Duo."

"Sorry," The American mumbled in response.

"I know you're the expert and take this as you will, but…"

Duo rolled his eyes. "But-? Spit it out!"

"You keep saying you can't read this guys because you don't know rich brats like him."

"Right."

"Maybe you should stop thinking of him as a billionaire and start thinking of him as just another person and compare him with what you know. He could turn out to be more alike a regular dude than you think. You know, a _dick_ , but still a normal dude."

Duo stared at him. In essence the advice wasn't bad, but he had a hard time believing Yuy could be 'one of the guys'. "Thanks," He quipped.

"Whatever, man. Just saying."

The truck stopped in front of his building and he opened the back door to get the suit. "Remember, I won't be able to go to the team-meeting next Friday."

"The exposition, I know. Good luck."

"Yeah..." He shut the door and hurried inside. He opened all the windows of his tiny apartment with the intention of airing out the smell of cigarettes that hung heavily in the space. He couldn't risk the smell permeating the suit, not even in the slightest. Neil was right about one thing, Yuy had picked the suit out for him himself, subconsciously the businessman could be looking forward to seeing him in that exact suit very much and he could not disappoint him.

He hooked the coat hanger over the edge of his closet door and he unceremoniously unzipped the cover bag and pushed it aside to reveal the suit.

He eyed the medium grey suit of a stretch wool and satin blend thoughtfully. He had never worn a suit, much less a suit like that. He pinched the edge of the black lapel between his thumb and forefinger and traced the seam down to the single button at the tailored waist. The accompanying satin blouse was a dark burgundy, the tie was black. He had never seen Yuy wear the suit and it smelled fresh, possibly it was brand new. He zipped the bag up and safely put it away in the closet. With his luck he would spill something on it before Friday night, he had to be careful.

That Friday evening he couldn't stomach any food as the hour drew nearer to eight o'clock. Having the billionaire pick him up at his home made him feel exposed and vulnerable. For whatever reason, he didn't like the idea of Yuy seeing what kind of rundown building he lived him, he didn't need the rich man to look down on him or pity him. On top of that he had no idea how he was supposed to act at a goddamned art exposition. He didn't know what to expect. He would be more out of his element than ever and that was not ideal considering what he was tasked with.

After a long shower – that failed to calm him down – he gingerly got the suit out of the closet and spread it out on his bed. He started putting the articles of clothing on, one by one.

The two of them were, in fact, pretty close in size. The jacket was a bit too tight around his shoulders, but only marginally so. Holding the tie in his hand he walked into the bathroom to check his reflection. He stopped and frowned at the sight of himself. He stared at the man he saw, he didn't recognize him but he couldn't figure out if he liked that or not. He looked good and the fabric felt amazing, but he had never felt like more of a fraud and it made his skin crawl. Part of him wishes he could have been that guy, the guy in the slim-fit, expensive suits who is respected and always has someplace important to be. But he wasn't he was just a street-rat. Even from a young age he knew he would never be more than that, life didn't work that way in these neighborhoods.

He leaned forward and struggled with the tie until he ended up with a knot that he deemed acceptable.

Yuy hadn't borrowed him any shoes, so he had no choice but to pair the glamorous suit with his beat-up black boots, but it wasn't offensively noticeable.

He stood by the window and waited. He didn't know in which vehicle he would be picked up, but he was certain that whatever car Yuy had decided on would stick out from the usual traffic; an odd mix of dull, second-hand cars and tuned-up American models with clashing paint jobs. He didn't even dare to sit down on the armrest of the couch, far too self-conscious about the suit. Duo could imagine, with horror, unknowingly sitting down in an old grease-stain and embarrassing himself at the exposition with a dark discoloration on the back of the pants.

As expected he knew exactly when his ride had arrived. A dark blue Jaguar, ostentatiously polished, drove down the street and was effortlessly parked in a spot on the opposite side of the road that had seemed too small to fit the car.

Duo took a deep breath and straightened the jacket one last time before stepping out of the apartment and heading downstairs. When he opened the front door of the building, a tall, slender man dressed in a black suit was waiting for him on the steps, complete with one of those ridiculous hats drivers wear.

"Duo Maxwell?"

He nodded.

The driver appraised him and as he reached out, he asked: "Do you mind?" He didn't wait for permission and adjusted the tie. Apparently the knot Duo had managed to create wasn't acceptable enough according to master Yuy's standard.

He stood stiffly as the driver fixed the tie and then followed him across the street where the man held the back door on the right side open for him. Duo slid into the beige leather interior of the luxury sedan and was more than a little peeved to discover Yuy was on the phone and didn't acknowledge him, not even when the driver shut the door and the sound caused him to briefly look up from the stack of papers in his lap.

The driver got behind the wheel and steered the car back into traffic.

Duo looked out the window and noticed people watching the sleek sedan glide across the cracked asphalt. He felt very uncomfortable because he knew exactly what kind of contemptuous things they were thinking – the same things Duo himself thought whenever he saw a car like this come through a poor neighborhood. These thoughts weren't very flattering.

While he waited for his date – fuck was this a date? – to finish his call, he studied the inside of the car and eventually the suit Yuy had decided to wear: a cognac brown suit with a white shirt and blue tie. He couldn't help but noticed how mismatched they looked and wondered if, subconsciously, Yuy had engineered it like that. He caught himself being disappointed that Yuy hadn't even glanced at him, much less marveled at how good he looked, proving Neil's optimistic theory wrong.

Finally the phone call ended and Yuy put away his phone and the papers. He turned his head to look at him and all he did was nod, as a poor excuse of a greeting.

Duo sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "The suit fits well," He pointed out, fishing for a compliment.

"It's a little tight around the shoulders," He observed critically.

Duo cursed inwardly. He pursed his lips and looked out the window.

"Calvin, what's the ETA?"

The driver glanced at the GPS. "Seven minutes sir. Security is already at the gallery."

"Does Borges know that I'm coming?"

"We did not RSVP the invitation, sir, just like you asked."

The con-artist shot him a look. "We're crashing? Isn't that considered rude?"

"At events like these I prefer that the curators don't know that I will be attending. Most of them feel inclined to call the showcasing artists and then they will show up and try to sell me their work. It bores me."

"It bores you?" He mirrored. He shook his head. "Aren't the artists at their own exposition anyway?"

"Rarely. At a certain point they become too rich and too famous to care."

That sounds familiar, Duo thought to himself. "Alright. But what's wrong with them trying to sell you their paintings? At least you get to meet them."

"The work has to speak for itself. I don't want somebody breathing down my neck explaining composition and color-blocking."

Almost exactly seven minutes later the car stopped in front of the gallery that Duo recognized from surveillance pictures Neil had shown him. Two big, burly men in black suits, with obvious earpieces walked up to the car. One of them held the door open for Yuy, the other walked around to open the door for Duo, but he had already opened it himself and had climbed out. It was silly to him to have someone else hold the door open for him.

The other guard provided Yuy with a security update; ultimately there was nothing to report and they were led inside.

The gallery was located in a converted warehouse. The building had retained it's original, industrial features, like the concrete floor, the steel support beams and exposed piping and wiring on the high ceiling. The large space was divided into sections by a maze of white walls that didn't reach all the up to the ceiling. Spotlights illuminated the countless works on display and the people that admired them. It was crowded with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Almost every single one of them was holding a glass of champagne and just as Duo noticed that a waiter approached him carrying a full tray of champagne glasses and offered him one. He hadn't eaten a single thing since breakfast, so he declined. He never appreciated the taste of champagne anyway.

Within seconds a slim man, dressed in a bright red suit walked up to Yuy with an odd, bouncy gait.

Duo hated stereotypes – even though they were important in his line of work - but he knew right away the man was gay. Sometimes it was just that obvious. A guy like that wouldn't be insulted, however. He wanted people to know he was gay, as if his sexuality provided him with some kind of clout in this business based on the stereotype that gay men had an excellent appreciation for art and fashion. He was a peacock showing his feathers.

"Heero Yuy!" The man exclaimed and he opened his arms as if he was about to hug the man but he stayed well outside of his personal space, clearly that was a lesson he had once learned the hard way. "If only I had known you were coming!"

"Borges," Yuy greeted him with the same polite nod that he had given Duo earlier.

Nervously, Borges, the curator, explained: "I'm surprised you're here. This isn't really your type of event, I'm afraid. For this exposition we have focused on portraits; photography to the left and mostly Cartographic and Art Brut to the right." His eyes darted to the tall long-haired man standing next to his favorite customer. "And you've brought a guest…" He stated dumbly.

"It's his first art exposition."

The expressive man clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! I feel honored." He stared at their empty hands and started snapping his fingers. "Why don't you have any champagne? Have you been offered champagne yet? Waiter! Waiter!"

Yuy accepted a glass wordless when a waiter scrambled over to offer him one, even though he had declined only moments before, just like Duo had.

Duo declined again, but Borges pressed on, so he begrudgingly took a glass off the tray to silence the overzealous curator.

"Would you like me to give you a tour?"

"No, thank you."

Following the dismissal he bowed and backed away. He actually bowed! Either the billionaire naturally had that effect on people or Borges had been instructed to bow, much like Yuy's staff.

Unsure of what to do Duo took a sip of the champagne and made a face. "So, uh, where should we start?"

"I just made eye-contact with one of my lawyers, so I should probably start with letting him kiss my ass for a moment, or he'll just interrupt us later."

Duo let out a hearty laugh at the dry remark. He frowned when Yuy took his glass of champagne out of his hand and handed both their glasses over to one of the body guards that appeared on cue. Duo watched as the big man walked over to the bar and put away the glasses, effectively saving Duo from either having to drink that cat piss or walk around with a full glass the entire evening. "What should I do?" He didn't like asking Yuy for instructions, but he was playing 'Cinderella' and for the role to be effective he had to let Yuy guide him.

"Look around," He said and then he stalked over to his lawyer and a woman who appeared to be his wife.

"Alright…" He looked around himself and took a moment to decide which section he should go to first. The paintings on the right side of the room looked like the kind of pictures a violent patient in a mental hospital would draw, the faces were disturbing and plain creepy. So he easily settled on going left, to the photography area of the exposition. The works were organized by artist, sectioned off by the placement of the walls. With his hands behind his back he slowly walked past the framed images, taking his time to scrutinize every one of them. Based on Borges' comment and the fact that he hadn't seen any artistic photography at the Corbeau estate, it was apparent Yuy wasn't a fan of photography and Duo could only wonder why. He quickly discovered that he vastly preferred it to the modern, abstract paintings that Yuy's collection consisted of. To him, pictures were more honest, grounded and gritty and because of that they appealed more to him.

He quickly became aware of someone keeping a close eye on him and casually following him. The heavily built man stood out because he was unaccompanied by anyone and he meandered through the sections aimlessly and he only ever looked at the framed pictures when Duo looked at him over his shoulder, to avoid eye-contact. The suit was too big on him and showed signs of wear under the arms and by the pockets, but the man himself was clearly not used to wearing a suit, indicating it was a rental. This wasn't the kind of event to attract people who didn't own their own suits, Duo knew.

When the man was pretending to be interested in the picture of a homeless man, Duo slipped out of his line of sight unnoticed and hurried around the wall to round the corner on the other side. He saw the man looking around, searching for him and he snuck up behind him.

Feigning innocence, he commented: "I overheard someone saying these pics sell for like twenty thousand dollars."

The chubby man turned to face him with confused eyes.

"For that kind of money, you better hope it comes with the frame." He forced a chuckle. He leaned in and whispered: "Did Neil send you?"

"I was sent by nobody," He lied. "I'm here for the… art."

"Bullshit. You're here to spy on me."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because that's what you've been doing for the past five minutes, you scumbag."

"Look man, get off my back. I'm just doing my job."

"Spying on me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Neil hired me to keep an eye on Richie Rich. He didn't tell me about you, so I was only trying to figure out who the fuck you were. I didn't know Neil also had someone undercover."

Duo realized the guy had no idea of the larger scheme Neil had set up, probably to keep the price of his services low. "Tell your boss to come see me tomorrow, at my place," He hissed. "And get the fuck out of here."

"You can't just dismiss me. I don't take orders from you."

"You stand out like sore thumb in your rental suit that stinks of dry-cleaning chemicals. Get out before security gets wind of you." He glared at the pudgy man until he backed away and eventually walked out of the gallery.

What was Neil thinking, hiring a buffoon like that to trail Yuy? Especially on a night when he knew Duo would be with the target. He suspected the Russian was checking up on him and perhaps he had no right to blame him, he hadn't exactly been an image of confidence in Neil's presence, with regards to the mission, but you couldn't send in two guys undercover and not tell either of them. It could have gone horribly wrong.

He checked his reflection in the glass pane covering the photograph and then continued his rounds.

The American lingered in the section in the back, taken by the black and white portraits made by the featured artist. The three feet tall images were larger than life and therefore all the more imposing. The works had simple, arguably clichéd titles like 'Love', 'Happiness' and 'Despair'. Their subject matter was equally simple; close-up shots of different people, with little regard for composition or lighting. They were honest, raw and exposing. He gravitated towards the photo at the center of the particular section, it had a wall all to itself. It was the image of an older man, his face weathered and riddled with wrinkles and scars – it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. His gaze pierced the lens. The eyes were filled with insufferable pain, guilt and regret. His big, coarse hand partly obscured his features. It would have been a deeply saddening image if not for the fair-skinned face of a young woman, in profile, leaning into the frame. Only her nose, mouth and chin were visible, in a way that would make a critical eye blame the artist for poorly cropping the image, but the feather light kiss she placed on the old man's temple made everything alright.

The photograph was titled 'Forgiveness'.

"Do you like it?"

Duo jumped at the sudden, deep voice behind him. He cast a glance over his shoulder, confirming Yuy was there. "I think I do."

"Why?"

Duo could tell he wasn't judging him, he really wanted to understand what it was about the image that appealed to him. An honest question warranted an honest answer. "I- I like what it means. What it implies."

"And what is that?"

"That anybody can be loved, no matter what they have done," Or plan to do, he thought to himself, "Somebody will love them, if they let them." He shook his head at himself. "I don't know what I'm saying. But I guess you could say I'm ' _experiencing_ ' it, so I'm starting to get what you meant."

"Hn." Yuy stared at the photograph over Duo's shoulder. "Do you want it?"

Duo spun around. "What? No! Just because I like something doesn't mean I have to have it." That was probably a novel concept for the man who could buy anything and everything he desired. "I don't think a fu- a photograph is worth that kind of money anyway."

"Nobody is here to buy a photograph, or painting. They buy the experience. If the experience is good enough, it is worth any kind of money," Yuy coolly informed him.

"Look, I like the picture and I like the experience, I guess. But the real experiences – the ones that _would_ actually be worth a fortune – are for free. Like the experience of this man," He nodded at the portrait. "The good experience is getting a kiss, is being forgiven. You can't buy that and… more importantly, you shouldn't want to." He smiled sadly as he recognized the puzzlement on the rich man's face. "The best things are for free." Having had no real money his entire life, those were words to live by.

"Hn." He nodded, although he didn't seem to fully understand.

They stayed at the gallery for about an hour. Yuy was approached a number of times but he blew everyone off in favor of studying the portraits in quiet next to Duo. The American wasn't certain if he should be flattered or if he was merely an excuse for Yuy to be anti-social to everyone else.

Yuy didn't buy anything that evening. As Borges has said, the art didn't match his preferences. They got back into the Jaguar and Calvin drove by Duo's building.

Duo fidgeted as the car idled in his street. Yuy had pulled those goddamn papers into his lap again and hadn't been paying him any attention since they left the gallery. "Uhm, I guess this is it for tonight?"

"Calvin will escort you to your door. He has your money."

Duo made a face, he hadn't been fishing for a payment. Those two-thousand dollars per evening weren't doing him much good anyway. "Okay cool." After a moment of contemplation, he wondered: "Do you mind if we switch our dinner date to another evening? I'm getting kind of tired of steak."

"Do you like sushi?"

"Yeah, I love sushi." He didn't, not really, but he had only ever had that cheap super-market sushi and he knew he shouldn't dismiss the possibility that he might actually like it if it was good quality.

"Good. I'll see you Sunday."

"Sunday?"

"Yes, Sunday night is Sushi-night."

Duo smirked. Being invited back for the third time in a single week was definitely a good sign. "Great. I'll be there at seven."

"Eight," Yuy corrected. "In the weekends dinner is as eight."

"Alright. Eight it is."

At Yuy's nod Calvin got out of the car but before he could get to Duo's door Duo already popped it open and climbed out, meeting the tall man with a grin. He leaned forward to look back into the vehicle and wondered: "Do you want me to have the suit dry-cleaned for you?"

"Keep it," He said.

"What?" Taken aback he pointed out: "But you said it was too tight around the shoulders."

The billionaire finally looked up from his work again and his eyes glanced up and down Duo's body nearly imperceptibly. "Keep it. It looks good on you."

"Thanks." He couldn't help his silly grin. "I'll see you Sunday." He shut the door and let Calvin walk him to the front steps of his building. Once he had unlocked the door Calvin produced a white envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it over discretely. He wished him a good night and tipped his hat and then walked back to the car. Duo watched him go and only then noticed the black SUV with Yuy's security that must have been following them all along. He swallowed loudly and stepped inside.

He called to have a big pizza delivered and washed it down with a six-pack of beer. He had been starving all once the nervous butterflies vacated his stomach.

The next day he woke up at noon, finding himself on his back on the couch, the pizza box on top of his abdomen, rising and falling with his every breath. The TV was still on; the weather channel. But it wasn't tomorrow's forecast that had woken him up.

The intercom buzzed again and he knew it was Neil. Duo jumped up from the couch and nearly slipped on a discarded bottle of beer on the carpet. He answered the intercom saying: "Come on up." And he held down the button that remotely opened the front door of the building.

The con-man used the brief moment he had to tidy up the apartment and straighten his clothes. He didn't want Neil to get the wrong impression; that he had been drowning his sorrows. The evening at the exposition had actually been quite promising and he needed to assure him of that. It had been wrong of him to vent to Neil earlier about his troubles with the target, it caused Neil to get more involved than was safe for any of them.

Wondering what took the man so long to come up the stairs he opened the door and looked down the hallway. He frowned when a delivery guy rounded the corner that very moment, hassling with a large package. With awkward steps the young man made his way down the hallway to Duo's front door and he didn't even notice the tall man until he reached up to knock on a door that was already open. "Sir! He- Hello, sir." At the stare he explained shyly: "You said I could come up? You buzzed me in."

Duo nodded at the package – a large, flat rectangular shape, wrapped in brown paper, a sticker on the front read 'Handle with care'. "That's for me?"

"Yes, sir." He carefully propped it against the wall. He produced an Electronic Signature Capture device from the back pocket of his baggy pants and held it out to him. "I just need you to sign here, sir."

He accepted the electronic pen and jotted down his name. He didn't even have a signature, for crying out loud! He watched the delivery man walk away and then turned his attention to the package. It didn't take a mind reader to figure out what it was but he was still apprehensive as he maneuvered the cumbersome package into his living room. He started ripping away the brown paper and then the layer of bubble wrap and even though he had long guessed what it was, his heart still skipped a beat when the layer of protection was cleared away and the photograph of the pained man was revealed.

"Holy shit," He muttered to himself, knowing the artwork cost tens of thousands of dollars. Befuddled he started looking for a note, assuming there would be one. He found it as he took a closer look at the brown paper he had torn away. A small, white note, the size of a post-it, simply stated:

'The best things are for free.'

He smiled. The gift clearly meant that Yuy had misunderstood what he had been trying to say, but in an odd, unexpected way the gift and the message were endearing.

"Who the fuck is that?"

He turned and spotted Neil standing in his doorway. "Nobody. It's art."

"It's ugly. Who wants a big-ass picture of an ugly guy in his house?"

"It's not about the picture, it's about the experience," He argued and then he laughed at himself.

"Whatever the fuck that means…" The Russian muttered. "You summoned me? For the record, I don't appreciate that."

"And I don't appreciate you having some goon spy on me!"

"He was there for Yuy."

"Bullshit. He was there to keep an eye on me, or you would have called him off. I'm the one who keeps an eye on Yuy, after all."

Neil rolled his eyes at him. "Fine. Guilty as charged. You had me worried!"

"Well," Duo paused and looked back at the photograph. A sly smile appeared on his face. "…You don't have to worry anymore…"


	9. Chapter 9

**Dirty Job**

**Chapter Nine**

The conman arrived at the mansion on Sunday, right on time, for sushi. He really didn't like sushi, but that was the least of his concerns.

Gerry's greeting was professional, but his smile was warm. "It's good to see you again so soon, master Maxwell."

"Please don't call me that." Duo made a face at the older man.

"What would you prefer me to call you, sir?"

"Just call me Duo."

Gerry's lips tightened at the suggestion.

Smugly, Duo pointed out: "It would be rude if you refuse to heed my request."

"That is correct. Follow me… Duo." He started towards the double doors underneath the twin winding staircases. "Master Yuy is in the TV room."

Duo stopped dead in his tracks. "He watches TV?" His tone was hopeful, but equally confused.

"CNBC stock exchange."

The American was disappointed, but he shouldn't have expected differently. He fell in step behind the butler and was led to the left in the main gallery. The second door to the right was open and Duo could hear the indiscriminate murmur of voices. Gerry stopped in the doorway, rapped his knuckles on the doorpost and announced Duo's presence.

Yuy was seated on the couch, facing the television, his back towards the door. He didn't acknowledge Duo, nor Gerry. The butler mumbled an apology when he noticed his employer had his cellphone to his ear. He gestured for Duo to head inside. In a whisper he offered Duo coffee, but the offer was declined. He offered a different refreshment of choice, but was declined again. With a bow he excused himself.

Duo stood merely two steps into the room. The TV room was connected to the formal living room, which in turn was connected to the kitchen. He peered through the open archways at the distant sound of activity and observed a chef, sous-chef, two maids and Gerry bustling about in the kitchen. Dinner was nearly ready, by the look of it. Gerry directed the maids to finish setting the table in the formal dining room while he kept an eye on the chefs and stepped in wordlessly whenever his assistance was required.

The businessman ignored all of it. He was focused on the television screen, leaning forward. He had the phone to his ear but hadn't spoken a single word. A newscaster was giving an analysis of the plummeting stocks of some company that didn't interest Duo.

He was unsure of what to do. Of course it irked him that Yuy was preoccupied with work when he had let it be known previously that he didn't appreciate that and for some reason he had hoped Yuy would take that to heart. But he was too far along in the game to give up on principle. He checked his reflection in the glass of a display cabinet with valuable but impersonal trinkets. He had made the bold decision of wearing all black again, hoping it would provoke something if he just stuck with it. His torn, black jeans were entirely inappropriate for dinner at the mansion and his turtleneck was too tight and bared the small of his back whenever he sat down, but as much as he resented it, he wanted to present himself to Yuy as a sexual being – maybe even as a sexual object. Considering the extreme reaction the implication of sex had caused before, he wanted to subtly probe further and gauge the man's reaction. He had to keep gathering information.

Satisfied with his looks and mustering up the confidence to make it through another evening with the cold-hearted man, Duo circumvented the couch and plopped down next to Yuy on the plush cushions; both of them bouncing in their seats as his weight settled. He flashed a grin when a blue gaze darted his way.

Yuy spoke, in Japanese, only curtly before disconnecting the line and placing his phone on the coffee table.

"Trouble?" Duo wondered, although he really couldn't care less and he didn't expect much of an answer.

"I've been trying to buy Gallagher Holding since last quarter but the board kept holding out on me. Now that their stocks are down, they want to take us up on our last offer. Of course that offer no longer applies. The company isn't worth half what we were willing to pay before."

Duo raised his eyebrows, surprised that Yuy actually bothered to explain it to him. "Do you still want to buy it?"

"Yes. Even more now that it's on sale," He said coolly.

"But isn't it pretty much worthless now?"

"As a company, yes. But there are sub departments that I want, which are still very valuable when merged with one of my companies."

"So it's like a busted-up car? As a car it's useless, but you can strip it for parts."

Yuy nodded. "Last month it was an older model sedan with engine problems, but right now it's a total loss. The parts I need still work, so it's just as valuable to me, but technically it's worthless, so the GH board has to drop the price."

Duo pursed his lips. "Isn't that kinda… unfair? If it's still profitable to you, why not pay him what you offered before? It's not like you don't have any money to blow, and the owner of the company needs the money more than ever."

The sparkle that was in the blue eyes before faded away when the eyes narrowed at Duo's comment, which seemed to register as an insult. "It's not unfair. They could have sold-out months ago, but they were arrogant and overestimated their ability to turn it around in the next quarter, in an economic climate that has only gotten less conducive to their business model." His hands folded together and Duo could see the tension in how the fingers clenched.

He tried to play innocent to amend his mistake. "I'm sorry. What I said was stupid. I didn't understand. All of this goes over my head, really."

Yuy eyed him with apparent suspicion. It seemed like he was about to snap at him but Gerry interrupted.

"Dinner is served."

Duo fidgeted under Yuy's stare and couldn't breathe again until the businessman had risen from his seat and followed Gerry to the dining room. Duo followed shortly.

On the table before him was an assortment of different kinds of sushi; each carefully constructed piece tasted much better than the supermarket junk he had tried before and he was pleasantly surprised. To lighten up the atmosphere he decided to share his experience with supermarket-sushi, but Yuy wasn't amused. The man ate quietly and Duo couldn't even tell if Yuy was listening to him or if he words fell on deaf ears.

After sushi, Duo was served dessert – the 'commoner's dessert'. He enjoyed the slice of the staff's crumbly apple-pie while Heero sipped at his wine, completely absent.

"I haven't thanked you for your gift," The American started.

Finally, Yuy looked at him again. His face was impassive, but the eye-contact in itself was an improvement.

"And I'm not going to," He stated boldly. "I _told_ you not to buy it for me. So while I appreciate the thought, the gift burdens me. Presents are like contracts, reciprocation is part of the deal, and obviously I can't return a gift of similar value. The suit was already too much."

"You think I expect something in exchange?"

"Don't you?"

"No." His stare made Duo shiver. "As you stated, you have nothing to offer me."

_That's not exactly what I said,_ Duo grumbled inwardly, but he understood the man purposefully misconstrued his words to get a rise out of him. He realized Yuy was probing him, trying to provoke a reaction to establish a benchmark to help him read him. _The fucker is working me the way I'm supposed to be working him!_ He smirked. It was disconcerting, sure, but also thrilling. "You don't have to buy me gifts, Yuy. You're already paying me for my company."

"It's not like I don't have money to blow."

Having his words thrown back at him confirmed to Duo that he had hit a nerve earlier. Yuy didn't like it at all that Duo looked down on him precisely because of his wealth. He was used to his wealth earning him respect and admiration. It both aggravated and puzzled him that Duo was not impressed. It hinted at an insecurity below the surface, perhaps the man lacked the confidence to think he had anything else to offer that could awe his guest and it exposed an imperfection; he didn't know how to assert himself in a social situation if he couldn't throw money at it to secure his dominance. However, if this hunch was correct, the man was hiding it well. He looked aloof and unconcerned. The piercing gaze caused Duo's own confidence to waver. Not knowing what the Japanese was thinking as he scrutinized him from across the table was unsettling. What did he see with those eyes that seemed to look right through Duo's hardened mask?

Gerry appeared to clear away Duo's empty plate and offer them both another glass of wine.

"No more wine," Yuy said, making his statement all the more definitive with a sweeping gesture of his hand. "Duo and I will take to the squash-court later."

The thief raised his eyebrows. "Squash? Squash-court? I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"I will lend you clothes."

"But I-"

"It's Sunday. I always play squash on Sunday."

_Fucking Yuy and his schedule._ Duo could do nothing but nod.

Only a few moments later Gerry walked into the dining room again, holding Yuy's cellphone, which was ringing. Gerry shot Duo an apologetic look when Yuy accepted the phone and left the room without excusing himself.

He lingered to fill the gap and drowned out the foreign sounds of Yuy's one-sided conversation by politely inquiring: "Did you enjoy the apple-pie?"

Duo smiled at him. "It was delicious."

"One of our maids made it herself, you should know. Not even the French chef can outdo her apple-pie."

"I hope it isn't an inconvenience to save me dessert."

"Not at all. There is always plenty."

Yuy returned, pocketing his cellphone. "If you aren't too full, I'd like for us to get changed before it gets too late."

"Right. Squash." Lacking all enthusiasm Duo rose from his seat.

"Please take mister Maxwell to the dressing room by the squash court," Yuy ordered Gerry. "I'll change upstairs."

There wasn't any time for a last-effort protest against the idea of playing _squash_. Yuy left and Gerry led the way through the main gallery to the right, rear wing of the mansion. He opened a door and flicked on the lights to reveal the indoor squash court; nothing more than a rectangular room with polished, hardwood floor, white walls and red lines that were meaningless to the American. The butler crossed the room and opened another door: a dressing room with a bathroom. Placed on the bench was a set of clothes.

"Good luck," Gerry said. He closed the door to the dressing room behind him.

Duo stared at the black clothes with the tags still on. A thin, airy shirt and loose shorts with red piping down the sides. Clearly Yuy didn't have these work-out clothes lying around, he bought them especially for Duo, for this evening. Interestingly, the man had taken notice of Duo's preference for black clothes and, more importantly, he didn't seem to mind someone else wearing black while he himself still avoided the color in his own attire. Duo could only guess at what that was supposed to mean. As he stripped out of his clothes and pulled the tags off the shirt and shorts – ignoring the prices – he noticed there were three sets of identical, black sneakers waiting for him by the door leading back to the court. Size nine, ten and eleven. The third pair was a good enough fit.

He emerged from the dressing room to find Yuy wasn't at the court yet. Impatient and a little insecure about being out of his depth with this odd sport, he grabbed one of two rackets propped up against the far wall and retrieved a black ball from the basket beside them. He tossed the ball a couple of times and bounced it off the floor and the wall, testing it. It was rubbery and soft. He threw the ball into the air for a serve but hit it with the rim of his racket, sending the squash ball to the far left, bouncing miserably off the wall and rolling right by his feet. He chased after it and tried again. This time he managed to hit the ball right. It bounced against the wall and returned so quickly that he didn't have ample time to respond and it hit him square in the abdomen. Suddenly the ball didn't feel so soft anymore. When he went to grab it again, already frustrated with the game, Yuy stepped into the room and picked the black ball up from the floor.

Duo stared at the man, wearing a white copy of his own outfit: loose shorts and a thin shirt, so thin Duo could see dark nipples through the fabric. He wasn't used to seeing the man like that, he had only see him in a suit before, or slacks and a button-up that one time, at his most casual. Just as the slim-fitted suits suggested, the Japanese man had a shapely, athletic body. The fabric hung off his well-set shoulders nicely and the short sleeves exposed wiry arms. His legs were toned and tanned, covered in fine, dark hairs.

Yuy was an undeniably attractive man but it left Duo feeling conflicted. He shouldn't look at his target that way, yet it was hard not to.

"Getting started without me?"

"I was practicing. I've never done this before." He felt impish.

"It's a little bit like tennis."

"I've never played tennis either."

Yuy nodded. "We will keep it simple. The first person serves the ball, from either the left, or the right service box," He pointed at the lines marking squares on the floor where they stood. "The ball has to hit the wall between the service line," He nodded at the middle line, nearly six feet high on the opposite wall, "And the top out-line." The out-line was near the high ceiling. "The ball is allowed to bounce once on the floor before the second player has to hit it back. Then the ball may hit the wall anywhere between the top and the bottom out-line and a player can also let it bounce off either sidewall, which makes it more difficult for the other player to hit. The ball goes back and forth between the players, this is called a rally. When a player is unable to hit the ball before it bounces on the floor a second time, or if the ball goes out, the other player gets a point and then the ball is served again for the next rally."

It seemed simple enough, but Duo knew it would be a challenge to adapt to the new game once he was in the heat of it. Still, he couldn't back down. "Who wins?"

"The first to reach ten points."

"Alright."

"I'll serve first," Yuy asserted and he got into position in the left service box. He spread his feet, bent his legs at the knees and leaned forward, getting into position.

Not knowing what else to do, Duo copied him. He looked sideways to watch his serve.

Yuy tossed the ball up, stretched his body and hit the ball with a mighty swipe of his racket.

Duo was vaguely aware of the dull thud of the ball hitting the wall, but before he could react he saw it bouncing past him. He looked at it dumbly as it lost momentum and bounced off the wall behind him.

"Your focus has to be forward, not to the side." Yuy retrieved the ball. "Unlike in tennis, you don't have time to follow the ball after a serve, the distance is too short. You should watch the wall and when you see the ball bounce off it, you have to react quickly."

"Okay," He drawled. He didn't appreciate Yuy's attitude. What did he expect? He had made it clear this was his first time playing this goddamn game.

"Eyes on the wall," Yuy reminded him and the went right into his serve.

Duo saw the speck of black against the white backdrop of the wall. It bounced off the floor and he moved his racket to the left of his body, thinking that was where the ball was going, but as soon as he had extended his racket he realized his mistake and he couldn't change his position in time to stop the ball from flying by him on his right. He let out an exasperated sigh.

"Better," Yuy said, but his gruff tone implied his frustration level matched Duo's.

Another powerful serve. This time Duo was right to step to the left to intercept the ball but when he moved his racket to return the serve, he ended up hitting the back of Yuy's thigh while the ball slipped between the opening between his arm and torso. He smiled flippantly when Yuy glared at him.

The businessman moved to get the ball, rubbing the back of his leg as he bent forward. "Three to zero," He announced.

"Oh, come on! Those points don't count! I'm still getting into it." Duo pouted. He didn't want the game to last, he preferred for it to be over as quickly as possible and if that meant Yuy scoring ten points in a row that easily, that would be fine with him. But this evening was for business, not for pleasure. He had to stretch the game so he could learn as much about Yuy as possible in this strange situation.

"Fine. I'll allow you some time to practice." He handed the ball to him. "You serve."

"Oh. Okay." Mimicking Yuy's technique he served the ball to the best of his abilities. He was rather proud to succeed on his first try. The ball hit the wall and bounced on the floor once.

Yuy caught it in his hand.

Duo frowned at him.

"The ball has to hit between the service line and the top out-line," He reminded him, gesturing at the front wall. "You were too low." He tossed the ball back to him.

"Fine. Excuse me," He grumbled petulantly.

He repeated his serve and gripped the rubber handle of the racket tightly as he saw the ball hit the wall below the service line again.

Yuy caught it in his left hand effortlessly. "Again."

Feeling tension in his entire body from the single-word command didn't make it any easier. He tossed the ball into the air and swung his racket.

The ball hit the floor.

_Goddammit._ He shot Yuy a look.

"Again."

He accepted the ball as it was handed back to him and got into position. He took a deep breath, threw the ball up in the air and moved his racket, hearing it _swish_ as the netting of synthetic strings cut through the air.

The black ball hit the wall about a foot off the floor, far below the service line.

"Again?" He asked with a sigh, already defeated.

"Again."

And again his serve was too low.

"This is impossible. This is useless."

"You're hitting the ball too late, because you're hesitating. By the time you hit it, it's already down to here," He reached out and his hand nearly touched Duo's hip. "To be able to hit it at that point, you're angling the racket down and moving it in a downward motion. This sets the ball on a downward trajectory. When you serve, you're in control, this is not the part where you have to work to chase the ball. Hit it while it's between your shoulders and your midriff and keep your racket low, so you don't have to bring it down to chase the ball, but instead you can swing it _up_ , because the ball has to hit the wall high for the serve."

"Okay. Yeah, okay."

"And stand closer to the wall. One foot in the service box, the other closer to the wall. The closer you are to the wall for the serve, the easier it is. Just remember to step back to give yourself more time to react once I return the ball."

Duo stared, surprised at his calm and helpful instructions. He noticed the man was more comfortable talking like this, as opposed to having a real conversation. So he wasn't shy, he just didn't know what to say in a regular, social situation.

"Again."

_Oh, fuck him._ Duo got into position, closer to the wall. He kept his racket low and rather than focusing on imitating Yuy's powerful swing, he focused on completing the serve. He tossed up the ball, not as high that time and swung the racket before it dropped too low. His eyes followed the ball as it hit the wall about two feet above the service line, bounced on the floor and approached Yuy.

Without even adjusting his footing, the Japanese man twisted his body for a backhand stroke. The sound with which the ball hit the ball was nearly deafening and completely different from the soft thud after Duo's serve. Rather than immediately bouncing to the floor, like what Duo was prepared for, the ball hit the sidewall first, which changed its course. The ball sliced across the court, hopelessly beyond Duo's reach.

The American stared at his instructor with his eyebrows pinched together and fumbled to catch the ball when Yuy tossed it to him.

"Again."

Incited, Duo didn't waste time grumbling under his breath. They continued their practice and Duo knew he was starting to get better when his partner needed to move around more to return his serve. Yuy showed him more techniques; 'volleys', 'drop shots', 'kills' and 'nicks'. Duo imitated the techniques with varying degrees of success but was never able to let the ball slip past Yuy's racket. However, he did get more apt at recognizing when Yuy was about to do a deceiving shot and managed to respond to some of his tricks in time. When they were both panting, the businessman decided it was time to start their game officially and it was his turn to serve. Duo felt confident he had gotten better and might stand a chance.

Yuy was quick to disillusion him. As expected, he served the ball hard and although Duo was able to return it, he had to move all the way to one side of the court, rendering him incapable of returning the next shot in time; he was in the wrong place and even a leap and the stretch of his long arm couldn't help him hit the ball back to the front wall.

"One."

Duo released a sigh.

"Your turn to serve."

He had no trouble serving the ball correctly after his short practice, but his swing was weak, making the ball slow enough to give Yuy ample time to get into an ideal position. He lowered his upper body, getting his racket under the ball and hit the ball as it came towards him. With perfect aim the ball hit the front wall in the lower right corner and bounced against the side wall, also in the very corner. This meant the ball landed on the floor less than a foot away from the front wall and Duo couldn't possibly get to it before it hit the floor again and simply rolled towards them.

"Two."

"Just serve the ball, Count Von Count."

Yuy steadily kept scoring more points although the rallies lasted longer every time. The Japanese man was a technically excellent player, but Duo was quick to learn his game was riddled with tells that were easy to discern for someone like him. When he lowered his upper body, he was going for a dropshot or a kill, which meant Duo had to go closer to the front wall. When he was getting ready for a lob – a soft return that causes the ball to bounce high off the wall and all the way to the back of the court – he moved forward to catch the ball at the highest point of its bounce. Backhands and forehands betrayed direction.

"Six. Your serve." Yuy was sounding a little out of breath.

The next rally started. They played the ball back and forth.

"Who do you normally play with?" Duo wondered, stealing sideway glances to keep track of the other's strategy.

"Myself… or my personal trainer."

He grunted as he rushed to the left to return a volley. "Never with friends?"

"I don't have any friends."

The response was pathetically matter-of-fact. Duo almost pitied him. "How long have-" He groaned as he made an awkward backhand stroke, but he managed to keep the ball in the game, "-how long have you known your personal trainer?"

"Four years."

"Then wouldn't you consider him a friend?"

"Not at all." His attempted drop shot failed, giving Duo enough time to react. "He's a vegan."

Duo let out a laugh. "Vegans are people too! Why couldn't you befriend a vegan?"

"Because that's _all_ he is. That's all he talks about."

"To you," Duo pointed out. "Maybe he's different with people he likes." He didn't intend for that to sound quite as harsh as it did.

Yuy didn't seem to take it to heart. "You're probably right. But the result- Ugh! – Is the same: we aren't friends."

"What about Gerry?"

"Gerry?"

Duo rolled his eyes. "Gerard. Carran. Your butler."

"He's my butler," Was the simple response. He managed to surprise Duo with a cross court shot and boasted with a slight smirk: "Seven."

"But you're close, right?" The American continued to probe, bouncing the ball off the netting of his racket, stalling his serve.

"We spend a lot of time together and he knows me very well. But that is all part of his job."

"Maybe you shouldn't compartmentalize him that much. Just because it's part of his job, doesn't mean his interest and care for you isn't genuine."

"We aren't friends," The other emphasized. "He knows everything about me but I know very little about him. And I don't need to know anything about him. I don't need him to be my friend. I don't need anyone to be my friend." He sounded childish and like he knew damn well that he was lying.

"If you don't need any friends, then why am I here?" He decided to serve the ball, hoping that if Yuy's focus was on the game, he might let the mask slip.

The man couldn't answer the question and only grunted as he returned the shot.

"Are you even gay?" He boldly asked, keeping up the act of playing dumb. "Because you've hired all these male prostitutes but as far as I've heard you haven't slept with any of them."

Yuy stumbled forward but failed to connect his racket with the ball and it bounced right between his spread legs to the wall behind them.

Duo stared and a grin formed. "One."

The man glared at him. He swept the ball off the floor with his racket. "What else have or haven't you heard?"

Duo shrugged. "That's basically it. That you keep inviting these guys over but that you never _do_ anything." He waited for Yuy to say something in response, but all he did was serve the ball, halfheartedly. "So?" He pressed, returning the serve. "Are you gay?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why would you say that?"

"My sexuality is irrelevant to our arrangement."

"Right. Okay. That's fair I guess." He smiled when he successfully pulled off a volley. "Then I also won't tell you my sexuality."

"Unn! _Fuck_ …" Yuy hissed as his opponent managed to score another point. The conversation was distracting him from the game and it was the first time since they had met that Duo had observed him losing his cool. He considered it a small victory.

"Come on. You didn't think that just because I'm a male prostitute accepting male clients, I'm gay, right?" He flashed him a smirk. He enjoyed toying with the man.

"Of course not," He lied.

It was apparent to the conman that the implication that Duo might be straight unnerved him. He became more self-conscious and refocused on the game. He scored his tenth point mere minutes after the exchange, working hard to prove his masculinity. Obviously, Duo knew Yuy was gay and the man seemed more at ease with himself when he trusted Duo to be like him in that regard, even though sexuality was supposedly 'irrelevant to their arrangement'. This hinted at deep rooted insecurity regarding his sexuality and feeling inferior and less manly when surrounded by straight people, which almost always boiled down to daddy-issues. "Is that why you hire male prostitutes?" Duo continued even after the game had ended and Yuy padded his forehead dry with one of the towels from a stack in the corner. "Because you're looking for a friend who won't judge you for being gay?"

"I'm not looking for a friend," He reminded him. "And I didn't say that I'm gay."

"Sure. Sure." He resisted the urge to tell the man that he had lied before and that he was gay. It would have been an easy way to make the businessman feel safe again and on equal footing with him, but Duo wondered if the shift in balance could help him find out more about the man. Having the edge of suddenly being able to intimidate him could prove useful and if not, it was easily amended by coming out to him later on. Like an animal displaying his masculinity, Duo refused a towel and instead picked up the hem of his black shirt and pulled it up to wipe the sweat from his face. He pretended not to notice that Yuy stole a peek at his abs. "So what do we do now?"

"You can take a shower and then you can go home." He headed for the door. "Take your time. Gerard will be waiting for you with your payment when you are done. You can keep the clothes and shoes."

"I told you I don't want your gifts."

"Then throw them away. I have no use for your sweaty clothes."

"When do you want me to come back?" Duo asked before Yuy could leave the room, choosing the verb _want_ deliberately.

Remembering Duo had expressed his distaste for steak every Friday night, but unwilling to change-up his menu, Yuy paused in thought before curtly suggesting: "Thursday. Pasta." Then he left.

Duo shrugged and headed into the dressing room. He didn't take a shower, he was ready to go home. He changed back into his own clothes and dumped the work-out clothes on the floor in the corner, along with the shoes he had worn and the two other pairs. He took the time to re-braid his hair and then walked outside.

Gerry was waiting for him in the hallway and guided him back to the foyer, where, as always, the envelope with the money was waiting on the table with the orchid. "Did you have a good time?" The older man asked.

"I had a good work-out."

Gerry nodded. He opened the front door and snapped his fingers to get the attention of the guard standing by the golf cart. He wished Duo a nice evening and then waved him off.

The electric engine of the golf cart hummed and the gravel crunched underneath the wheels as the guard sped the kart towards the front gate.

Duo found his way back to the drop-off and pick-up point around the corner. Neil's black SUV was just pulling up. He climbed into the car and nodded in gratitude when Neil wordlessly handed him his cigarettes and lighter.

The Russian scrunched up his face. "What's that smell?"

"That would be me."

"You stink."

"We played squash." He lit a cigarette.

"Is that a euphemism for something gay?"

Duo let out a laugh. "No, it's a stupid sport. It's like golf, but for the physically fit rich assholes."

As if that made sense, Neil said: "Ah, okay." After keeping quiet for as long as he could, he started: "So how did it go?"

"Fine."

"What does that mean?"

"Look, I'm making progress, okay, let's just keep it at that. I don't feel like justifying myself and giving an analysis every time you drive me home."

"When is your next date?"

Duo released a sigh. "Can we please just… not?"

"I'm not asking because I'm prying," Neil bit back. "I'm asking because there is something we need to do, but you need to be back in time."

The American turned sideways in the passenger seat. "What do we need to do?"

Neil smirked darkly. "We're going to visit a friend in Florida."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three more chapters available to read at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9980589/1/Dirty-Job
> 
> You can continue reading on fanfiction.net or wait for the chapters to get posted here as well, but I gotta run now.


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